Abendrot
by Aelibia
Summary: The myths of Molly Pitcher both intrigued and inspired Sakura Haruno. That explained a lot right now. It didn’t quite explain, however, why that strange Deidara person had come out of nowhere and started shooting at her with a very big gun. DeiSaku.
1. Cows, Planes, and Pneumonia

**A/N:** **Edit September 2008:** I'm switching this whole thing up! Chapter by chapter, in fact, before I start adding new things. It's going to be rewritten in some places, and for one thing, Deidara's English is going to improve, and he'll start using contractions, because I just decided that it's too out-of-character for him otherwise. Sorry if some of you were attached to it! You shouldn't be.

* * *

The legends and myths of Molly Pitcher both intrigued and inspired Sakura Haruno.

That explained a lot right now.

It explained why she wore the pants of a suddenly recalled soldier, why the helmet she stole from Captain Kakashi looked so lopsided on her head, why she was fearlessly defending her home camp from death, hell, and the grave… It didn't _quite_ explain, however, why that strange person had come out of nowhere and started shooting at her with a really big gun.

Sure, people got shot with guns all the time. The Axis powers were as ruthless as every other enlisted man on the Ardennes front was. Nevertheless, they were _not_ supposed to shoot a nurse. It was inconceivable! People made laws against that sort of thing, didn't they?

Sakura just couldn't shake that guilty feeling that she always wanted this to happen, though. The picture inside her mind spanned the most glorious act of selflessness ever encountered. Her wounded friends fallen around her, and a gun clutched in her remaining arm, shooting the daylights out of at least sixty opposing soldiers while she bled out of every cut in her body profusely and the snow fell gracefully all around. Didn't everyone want the chance to play the hero?

Well, no one was on the ground—no one was _around_ to be on the ground—she had both arms completely attached, but she _was_ shooting the daylights out of…well, one soldier. As for her skin, at a glance there was nothing spectacular to see—the exception, a rather nasty paper cut on the back of her hand—and the clouds recently exhausted themselves of snow and decided to move on, leaving the area bereft of a good, dramatic snowfall.

Not all hope of a theatrical glory party vanished, however, because there, on the man's left sleeve, was a swastika. Considering that major detail, Sakura might have her celebration after all, even as conflicting thoughts began to swirl in her head. Just her occupation of battlefield nurse suggested an aura of healing and mercy, something she didn't even remotely represent at the moment. Still, there existed the _other_ moral issue... Even the annihilation of a single man from their side helped the allies out, and then no one would ever say Sakura Haruno didn't do her part to help save the free world. Sakura released her finger from the trigger after the third shot and squinted hard.

'_One _German_ soldier, down and out.'_ And that German soldier didn't look too good, apart from the fact that he'd just been shot by a rifle, of course. Even from yards away, Sakura could see the man displayed trademark signs of dehydration and acute delirium, which probably explained the sudden shooting. Just as she contemplated retreating back inside the tent and radioing for some assistance, the man doubled over at the waist and pitched forward. His helmet flew from his head, revealing a matted mop of blond hair, and pale skin the hat's shadow hid before.

_Oh, wow. He looks like one of those Nazi poster boys they showed us at training, _Sakura mused to herself sternly, mouth set in a grim line._ Tally one up for the lady in green, I guess. No one is even going to believe me when I tell them about this._

Sakura reluctantly threw the gun--and her better judgment--aside, a shock of relief seeping into her shoulder. Who knew guns were so heavy? Stepping up from her crouched position at the tent opening, she cautiously peered out of the ramshackle first aid facility. First order of business, scan the immediate area for more Nazi boys. You never knew where those bastards were hiding nowadays. Seeing no one, Sakura slipped on her fur-lined boots and tiptoed through the powder whiteness, praying she wouldn't get into any trouble over this.

Possible trouble, of course, because she planned to fetch the man back into the tent and give him a warm place to sleep, provided he was alive. Once before, Sakura offered water to a haggard POW in England and almost received a pay dock, had Kakashi not come to her rescue, explaining sheepishly that she was knew, she was stupid, and didn't know the difference between a mop and a broom. All the same--Sakura grumbled to herself at the edge of the river embracing the east stretch of tent, picking out the safest stepping stones jutting above the ice--the duty of a battlefield nurse required allotting aid to _everyone_ in need, no questions asked until later.

During the Civil War, one commonly saw nurses skimming about the aftermath of skirmish, administering bandages and fulfilling pleas for water indiscriminately. Sakura despised the Germans for their evil potential, but you just couldn't look into the eyes of someone screaming in pain and stop to make sure they were one of "yours." At least...Sakura didn't _think_ you were supposed to.

Darting across the shallowest part of the rushing water, Sakura reached the small, icy hill where she saw the man stumble, readying the medical, rational part of her mind for anything she was about to see…

…except for a _live_ body. Sakura anxiously stared down at the man's groaning, bleeding form. _Just when I get the scare of my life, I get _more_ work thrown on me. This is going to be _so_ much fun..._

* * *

The first thing Deidara forlornly realized was that he felt very, very cold. Again.

He wished for the warmth, a blanket of the stuff to burrow in and never come out, the proverbial summer in this damnable icebox. Cold signified something he knew intimately--a forced relationship, really--a relationship he dearly desired to rip into little, tiny pieces, just like his identification papers a week before whatever hell day this was, torn to shreds in a sudden fit of madness and alcohol. Later he regretted it, but as they say, what's done is done. No one asked for those papers, really.

Futility covered his mind like a dark cloud; to wish for things you didn't have in this war, to try and make something of yourself in an empire focused on one mind within the people, to escape from the destiny of serving the _Führer…_everyone said that. What they _didn't_ say was that you had to turn in your imagination to the government for screening. Deidara fully took advantage of that, and other people noticed. Deidara was never fond of most governments anyway, and this new one just bit him in the wrong place. Therefore, of _course,_ he was going to complain loudly about it to everyone who came to his store.

Oh, those were the days...when naivety ran rampant among his fourteen-year-old consciousness, when he swam consistently in his sea of ignorance. He thought, back then, that given talent and creativity came admiration and respect. An artist of explosives, you could call him, and then there was the workshop. Mostly Deidara made fireworks, even though it was illegal because of his age. They embodied beauty in all forms of expression: the light, the fire, and the noise, all blending to symbolize a masterpiece, and different, every one of them. And then he had to be an idiot and go dabble in artillery and shells, at the suggestion of his uncle.

Uncle R, his Grandmother's brother, worked for Hitler's _Sturmabteilung._ Deidara should've known.

During the days before the Nazi police force arrived at his doorstep, he noticed an abrupt lack of human company. All of his friends stopped visiting, and any calls made to his family unearthed nothing but broken apologies and stuttering, and ended with the recipient of the call hanging up on him. The blond began to wonder dreadfully, after those first few incidents, if his position against the government connected in any way with his unbidden isolation when a confident knock sounded on the door, sending his senses spiraling on the verge of panic. Something told him he wasn't going to like the secrets hidden beyond that heavy oak barrier.

The moment he hesitantly cracked his door open, Deidara's vision faltered, then went black.

And then his whole world changed.

He came to surrounded by darkness and a haze of pain. For a moment he wondered if he'd gone blind before a bulb in the ceiling flickered on, assaulting his eyes with a blast of white light. A rope tied him securely to a chair, stifling the impulse to shield himself from the onslaught of optical overloading; he made do with squeezing his eyes shut so hard they stung, clenched his jaw when a rough hand reached out and held his jaw, observing some unknown feature on his face. And then, the voice.

"Deidara. It's your uncle. You're in a holding center. We're going to make a better life for you, you'll see."

He didn't give Deidara time to stutter before a needle pricked his arm and a staggering exhaustion overpowered his senses. The scraping of the rope over his arm didn't register with his skin, and he didn't detect the vertigo when he slumped forward into a pair of strong arms that carried him to a broad, flat surface. The voice returned, but when Deidara awoke on a dilapidated bunk the next morning, facing a locked metal door, he didn't remember a word of it.

"It's okay, it'll be okay." A drawn-out moan from somewhere nearby. "I won't let them do anything to you. You don't have to pay the price for what she did or who anyone was, okay? I won't let it happen. Just sit up straight and do what you're told and you'll be fine. I enrolled you in a pilot's program, and you'll learn all kinds of exciting things. It'll be great..." The voice choked, a fine spray of spittle and a single tear fell upon Deidara's cheek.

"You look all right, so as long as you don't act out of line they'll let you be. God damn them, I can't believe this is happening. But it's all I can do, son. Don't hate me for this." A pause, and the sound of a gunshot down the hallway. "You're just a child, you're just a child..."

That ethereal kingdom disappeared forever, along with his uncle. Deidara never saw him again.

Waking up on that uncomfortable cot with every muscle in his body begging for mercy became somewhat normal over the next few days, as did the ritualistic opening of the locked door, when an unseen hand quickly shoved something resembling food inside. The room he would spend a small eternity in measured a tiny span, about thirteen by ten feet, possessing only that cot, a grungy sink, and a suspicious toilet. And eternity, Deidara came to discover, offered plethora of thinking time, considering _that_ kind of company decor. Mostly he thought about what he could do to get _out_ of that hellhole, but the rest of the time he devoted to cursing and punching the wall while he brooded over the reasons he was in there.

In another life, his mother gushed over and praised Deidara's artistic side, but his father scorned it. Imagination "always got people in trouble," he said, _"especially_ now." Well, and he was right. Even a much-needed profession in explosives couldn't save Deidara from the judgment of the Third Reich now. But why did he feel like nothing bad would happen? Did something happen last night...?

It was all grossly unfair, really. All Deidara had done was complain lightheartedly about the system of the economy to the government officials who came in to supervise his underage work. And maybe he might've insulted the school systems once or twice. Possibly, he said one or two derogatory comments about Mr. _Führer's_ mental state. Then there was that time he ran one of the officials out while brandishing a large chisel, just as a joke, because an army officer paid him to do it. As far as Deidara was concerned, there was absolutely _nothing_ to justify hauling his ass off to what appeared to be an interrogation facility. He suspected the building's identity because of the pleading and crying he heard occasionally late at night, the kinds he ignored with all his heart, as he ignored the men in tall boots coming to take his friend away a year ago. The way _everyone_ ignored things. There was so much no one talked about, things always kept silent with a frightened word, a tensed muscle.

But this was definitely a direct attack by the government on a completely innocent man. Deidara's wounded pride suffered further injury on the day his food was late for the first time. Instead of bread, old horse meat, and stale water, a rather strange group of uniformed officers greeted him briskly before professionally laying down Deidara's future options in an organized and psychologically biased fashion: execution by gunmen, a vacation to Auschwitz, or a jolly good year of service on the front lines with the German version of the boys back home. Complete with pretty nurses, whiskey all around, and clean underwear everyday.

Deidara chose life.

For the next few days, in exchange for freedom from his tiny cell, Deidara endured test after test to ensure his fitness for military service. An amusing coincidence; now he suffered through prying questions about his medical health and took tests for hours measuring the limits of his physical capability, all to determine his fitness for war, and the only thing he was in the military for was hating it. But strangely enough, Deidara's examinees continued to give him strange glares every time he mentioned the fact, that sort of 'well, I'm never going to see _this_ idiot again' expression. Of course, that was nothing new. Still, even the barber wouldn't talk to him.

Deidara had never felt so alone.

Looking in the mirror after his first trip to the servicemen barbershop tent in his new home at the main barracks, Deidara fully understood the more important use of protective helmets: o hide that cropped mess everyone was hiding underneath layers of metal. His unfortunate contact with mirrors thankfully ended soon after it started; a man in a mechanic's uniform walked his way and whispered in his ear that he was missing the flight training session.

Empathetic to the blond's startled expression, the mechanic beckoned with a grease-stained hand and gestured to a runway tarmac out in a field, parallel to the lines of barracks, with the other hand. After searching in vain for a large group of uniformed men, Deidara and the mechanic eventually stumbled across the group inside a room modeled after a schoolroom; the neat rows of stoic, burly young men, crammed into tiny desks made for secondary children produced a laughable effect. The lights off and a projector rolling, no one noticed Deidara slip in--giving the benevolent mechanic a grateful smile--and slink to the back of the room. He sat on the floor, pulling his legs up underneath the small of his back in order to see the small square of light up ahead.

And so Deidara learned about planes, every day, newsreel by newsreel. He learned that planes "weren't really that hard to fly," and that with enough practice, "even a small child could accomplish this task." A video outlining the steps to take in event of numerous malfunctions and pilot error immediately followed. Within weeks, due to the extreme pressure for new graduates, Deidara dove, barrel rolled, and bruised his way to initiation day, when without warning he transferred to an infantry division, even before he took a plane out on his own.

It was only a matter of hours after the transfer when his division received an unexpected summons to an attack on the West Wall and the American forces stationed along it. This attack would end the war, _Führer_ promised, set against a background of German hills and trees, displayed in glorious black-and-white. Those Americans would be sent scurrying home where they belonged and the whole world would realize how powerful the Germans truly were.

Deidara dreaded the trip, knowing he was probably going to die, confused and dejected that he wouldn't ever fly again, missing his explosives terribly. From the moment an officer presented the blond unceremoniously to the other men of his regiment, he could feel their jeering stares on his back constantly. After many years of drilling, eating, and training with the same army-toughened people in a monotonous, grey harmony, here was a scrawny boy of seventeen with ideas and passion, a love of art and the beauty of flight. Deidara never knew, then, what it was that made them hate him so much, but every time he looked, he saw it. The hate, burning terribly in the whites of their eyes, clenched teeth and hands, as if to snatch him from his life.

Every chance they got, the privates poked fun at Deidara while the officers weren't looking, and swore silent vengeance with their eyes when the officers skulked about menacingly like cats, searching for an excuse to punish.

In the confusion of battle, everyone knew well, no one would care if a regiment of petulant and malicious soldiers turned against its least-liked member. No one would care if one German soldier was left behind to fend for himself. No one _important_ would notice hallucinogens sneaked into what some hoped to be Deidara's last meal.

And so Deidara found himself alone again, separated from his regiment by the cold, the wind, and the burning hate. Someone, he couldn't remember who, told him they needed a sniper to the east to come around and surprise Them from behind, and that he was the best to do it, the top of his class, the most amazing undesirable of them all. Never mind that it's just you, Deidara. Just go and we'll send reinforcements. You can scout out. Find some water. Find a hill to start the attack. Go check the horses. I'll keep your dog tags safe for you, it's okay. Give them to me...give them...

It was getting dark now. Where were the others? Where was the sun? Hidden behind a blanket of white and grey, everything white, white, white, grey, nothing and nothing for miles around, a drop of monotony in an ocean of conformity. But it shouldn't have been this dark yet. After all, it had only been a couple hours after he left the base camp. Or days. Perhaps it had been years. Was the war already over?

Noises to his left. Someone singing. A woman? What was she doing in his shop now? Didn't she know it was after working hours? Deidara was running along his grandparents' fence at their farm, trying to make the cows chase him, and failing horribly. That was all right, cows never did like to listen. The sun was burning hot, but why was the grass so cold? A million frozen needles stood upright for as far as he could see, pricking his feet and steadily turning them bluer with each footstep.

Why was he carrying this gun? Did it belong to him? And a girl, a small girl, sitting at his feet, staring up, haunting him with her wide-eyed, innocent stare. She cried, and sang a sad song. When she reached a hand up to touch his cheek she disappeared, tore into a million sparkling pieces tossed asunder to the wind.

A man, cloaked in black, holding a book to his chest, a perfect, perfect book. The man stroked the book with his thumb and stood at the door of Deidara's shop, muttering ceaselessly as though mad. 'I knew her,' he said. 'But I don't know you. Not you. It's you she told me about.' Deidara stood and fell through the floor soundlessly, grabbing for a handhold through icy streams, and then everything slowed down, slow, slow, slow, but he knew he could move faster. He knew he could find a place, if only he could move fast enough. But now the image was gone, and he was on the ground. His helmet was off. His face was burning on the needles.

The girl sat on her haunches before him and grinned wickedly. He could see her, and himself, from far above, static in the air atop her head. She took a handfull of snow and dropped a formed ball onto his hair, sending him away again, this time to his grandmother's house. It was time for bed now. Every night at eight o' clock.

Deidara's grandmother leaned across his bed in the spare room and pecked him on the cheek. The girl kissed him too, but now she wasn't smiling anymore. The stare returned, and she sat at his side, looking down, mindless and blank.

"Good night, _liebchien__._ If you wake up early in the morning I'll make you some meat pies and you can have some goat's milk with them."

His grandmother turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

* * *

Sakura scowled a scowl of the highest consternation. If the boys and Ino decided to come back from the front now, she had half a mind to go out and start screaming from all the frustration, the sweltering emotions burning a hole in her head, making her palms sweat.

It was entirely the fault of this mysterious person, whoever the hell he was. After having a fine time getting him across the river without getting either of them wet (which involved an unhealthy amount of waterproof clothing and rubber boots), she'd managed to get him into an already made-up cot after stripping him down of his uniform and leaving him in a t-shirt and army-regulated boxers (remarkably clean ones). That pleasing factor did nothing to help Sakura's distressed mood, however. Not only did she willingly drag one of the enemy into this safe haven of tarp, spikes, and rope, she deliberately made him comfortable on Naruto's bed, probably one of the most patrioticly anti-Nazi soldiers in the whole United States.

And _now_ one of the guys might have to go without water, since the Nazi's condition required quite a lot of it. Looking down at his shivering, fevering, muttering form, Sakura felt some inner emotion twist her stomach in knots, wondering if it was guilt, compassion, self-loathing, or a mix of all three. Sighing dramatically, Sakura snatched the water canteen from the counter and tipped some of its precious contents onto a sterilized rag, depositing the container near her knees. She knealt carefully beside the bed, cautiously avoiding any blunt objects on the ground below, and gently applied the wet rag to the man's forehead, wishing she had some _real_ medical supplies. Basic techniques like this would only get her so far, especially with a serious case such as this. If the man didn't wake up soon and drink some water, he would probably die. '_But is that what I really want to happen?'_ Sakura felt guilty. '_What would Tsunade have done? What would she have—?'_

The man jerked violently under the cloth and moaned once, coughed, then sighed weakly. _Too_ weakly. His eyes snapped open and he gasped a single word. Sakura stiffened in her chair at the man's unexpected movement, but scrunched up her nose in confusion at his cryptic message.

"_Kühe..__."_

Sakura decided not to bother translating such a bizarre greeting. She knew rudimentary German because it was convenient in the area, and despite the fact most of her knowledge was in greetings, random comments about the weather, and how to ask for directions, whatever the man had said was free to go right over her head. Twisting around in place, Sakura groped the ground behind her for the water canteen once more, trying to hurry before the man fell unconscious once more. Just as she turned around to face him once more, he closed his eyes, and Sakura couldn't stop the loud grunt of frustration from leaving her clenched teeth. She opened her mouth to rebuke him loudly—uncaring whether he understood or even heard—when he stiffened and jerked his head around to face in her direction, gaze locking with her own, blue eyes clear and intelligent, confused. _Scared._

The man burst out in rapid German, his meaning unclear to Sakura, but she still heard the questioning note in his tone of voice. Where am I? Who are you? What are you doing to me? How did I get in here? Sakura continued to stare at him blankly, feeling emotionally violated by the way he was shamelessly wearing his heart on his sleeve. Anyone could look into his face now and see exactly what he was feeling as he watched her unscrew the lid of the canteen. A vulnerability Sakura could never afford in her life here. There was the confusion and fear, and anxiousness, and now indignity at being totally ignored. _'Well, he can go straight to hell for all I care. Oh, I shouldn't say that, that's so horrible...'_

Sakura endured the awkward silence for several seconds before sighing and forcefully slamming her unoccupied hand against the ground, huffing as if greatly annoyed_—'I _am,_ dammit. This is even worse than Naruto with chicken pox. I have a distinct feeling he's going to be a troublemaker.'—_and heaving herself up to a standing position, where she resumed staring at the blond man, who was beginning to look sickly and sallow once more as the adrenaline wore off. The surge of dislike she felt as she bore her eyes into him shocked even her own self. Honestly, he was just a kid like _her,_ practically, from what she gaged by his physical appearance.

But rules were rules, and now both her head and her heart told her to get a grip and start taking care of this man regardless of her personal feelings. Perching on the edge of the bed and making a silent vow to _not_ be a prickly bitch, Sakura leaned in towards the man, amused when he sluggishly drew back from her searching hand and the canteen in the other. She smiled lightly, trying to placate him with her voice. _'Voice first, _then_ gradual physical contact. Makes the patient less nervous of your presence. Talk to them as if they're a baby. When they're that far up the river of death, they won't even remember anything anyway. Thanks, Tsunade.'_

"It's only water, and you're very dehydrated," she cooed, "I'm a nurse and I'm going to help you. Drink this."

Something in the blond's eyes dulled, and he allowed Sakura to put one hand behind his head as she carefully gave him the water. _'Oh, man. He's not even trying to gulp it all down. Can I save him? Do I…want to save him?'_ Sakura chewed on her bottom lip as she reached below the bed—still trying to hold onto his neck and keep him awake—for a second canteen, which she barely managed to persuade him to swallow before he went limp again. Sakura gently arranged his unconscious form on the cot, grabbing extra blankets in preparation for the return of his fever. Sighing as she looked down at him, Sakura felt bitterness of pity, all for the young man. It didn't matter who they were, Sakura's heart always reached out to a suffering human being. Cursing herself for her weakness, Sakura knew that the guys wouldn't say anything about it; they understood her, and would accept whatever 'rights and needs of a wounded soldier' speech she'd dish out, if they _ever_ got back. Fighting down a pang of wrath at Nazis in general and ignoring the shiny, metal scalpel five feet to her left, Sakura closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down.

'_I need to rest. Time to go to bed.'_

Sakura stretched languidly and strolled to her cot at the end of the first section of the hospital tent, which unfortunately meant passing by a full-length mirror as well. She balked at her appearance, and felt a heavy blush setting her face on fire. What a sight she was! Wearing those huge, baggy pants of Neji's and Kakashi's enormous helmet, she looked…

"I look like a weed trying to crossdress as a tree! And my hair sticks out of this damn helmet everywhere! I sure hope he's too delirious to remember any of this," Sakura muttered to herself. "With any luck, I may hold on to some of my dignity, here."

Another moan broke Sakura's depressing reverie; the man's fever was probably picking up again. Grabbing an unopened bottle of rubbing alcohol as she rushed to his side, Sakura steeled herself for a long journey ahead of her, one without an end in sight.

* * *

Lying back on the cot, comfortable and warm for the first time in a long time, Deidara remained limp and slothful, staring at the ceiling. How long would it be until his paradise was ruined and his commanding officer ran him out of the hospital tent, back to the slush and dregs of men who bandied about in it? And then there was his head. Dear _Gott__,_ it hurt like hell. He must've been drinking again. That meant a punishment inflicted from an officer upon his glorious return. Taunting the new kid's pushups was a good old time in the barracks, maybe even better than sex. Even the cook came out to watch. But when had he been drinking? Who even had _time_ for that anymore? The war was on, and soon his regiment deployed to—no. They _had_ been deployed. To Ardennes for the surprise attack on the Americans... He embarked on a scouting mission, but _then_ what? Deidara vaguely recalled something soft, something wicked, something…?

"Oh, looks like _you're_ awake now."

An American? That meant he had probably been captured somewhere along the line. When did _that_ happen? How worse could his life possibly get? An odd-looking nurse's head swam into his field of vision and blocked his fascinating view of the tent roof. She was looking at him funny. Deidara hated it when people did that. Never mind that it happened to him every day of his life, he still despised people who thought they could look down on him for whatever reason. This silly American nurse had no idea who she was dealing with, did she? She had no idea who he was, or where he was from, or even what she was _doing,_ most likely.

"Hello? Do you speak English? Nod if you understand me." And there she went again just flaunting her superiority around. Stupid American. She was planning his death as she spoke, he just knew it.

Deidara didn't _feel_ like nodding, either. If she were a good nurse, she would know about the terrific headache waging war in his _brain_ that kept him from jumping up and throwing various objects around. If she wanted nodding, she could just reach her goddamned hands over here and nod his head herself. The nurse pursed her lips and glared at him, as if _he_ were the source of her problem. She was probably on her rag or something. Crazy bitch.

"Well, I don't know if you understand or not, but my name is Sakura and I guess I'm going to take care of you now. Do not try anything funny on _me_ and I will not take advantage of _you_. You're in a subdued state right now from what I suspect, and it's definitely not over. I know for sure you have a fever and intense muscle strain, along with lingering delirium. You may have pneumonia. I'm going to do some tests really quick and that'll do the trick, I suppose. Up you go, now."

Where was his grandmother? Where was his shop? The girl?

"You have save me?"

The nurse Sakura blinked. "What?"

"You...did you save me?"

"I..."

Another blink. Was this woman good for _anything?_ Sakura scurried back to perch on his bedside and put her hand to his forehead and, drawing her hand back to scrutinize it, knit her brow together at the moisture gathered there.

"You have a definite fever, and I'm not altogether sure that your delirium is totally gone. Just the fact you speak English is going to help me out a lot, though. I'm going to run and get my stethoscope now. You just lay there and try to be comfortable."

Watching the Sakura-girl dash to the tent wall and open up a flap to another room, Deidara frowned and sighed, dearly wishing he hadn't as he was suddenly seized by a coughing fit and sat up to double over and hold his chest. His headache grew worse when he coughed. _'Why is it always me?'_

Sakura rushed back in Deidara's section with a stethoscope and several small, translucent containers with white lids. Placing the tubes in her ears, she placed the containers on the small nightstand and put her hand on Deidara's back to steady him. Her hands were very small, he noticed. And warm. And the stethoscope was very, very cold.

At Deidara's gasp, Sakura returned her other hand to his back and rubbed it soothingly.

"Try not to do that, it may make you have a coughing fit again. I'll need you to breathe in deeply and slowly, now. That's it. Now hold it for a second…and breathe out slowly. Good."

She removed the stethoscope from her ears and his back and curled it into the drawer of the nightstand before turning towards Deidara again, her facial expression grim and foreboding. _Oh, great. How many hours do I have to live?_

"Well, that didn't take long," Sakura sighed, seemingly exasperated. "You have a minor case of pneumonia, a bacterial strain caused by social interaction. That's my assumption, anyway. I keep telling the officers that they need to redesign the barracks and change some regulations around to avoid this kind of crap. You must be the thousandth guy in here for this, no joke."

Having a hard time keeping up--they never taught American slang in language classes, just proper British--Deidara just decided to go with her earlier advice. He lay back and closed his eyes, trying to drown out her confusing words. Sleep would do him good; he was so tired…surely, no one would care if he slept...slept until the end of the war. Maybe the pink nurse would let him stay here, out of harm's way, far from the flying bullets, mass cruelty, and men in uniforms who took grandmothers away. There was something intriguing about this woman; that was for sure. Maybe tomorrow he could talk to her more, if his mind had unclouded by then. She was right about that lingering delirium, though. Deidara was sure cows weren't allowed in hospital tents. The last thing he heard before the oblivion took him away again was her voice, affable and clear.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You must be exhausted. Just—just keep lying down, and I'll get you some more water… I'll have to wake you up later so you can drink it. And you'll be getting checkups pretty frequently, too. What else was I thinking? Oh! There's…"

What a pleasant voice, even for an American. She was very pretty, as well, and Deidara smiled lightly despite the searing pain lancing through his skull. He had a good feeling about this.

* * *


	2. As Time Goes By

**A/N:** This is for Fallacy! Love her!

* * *

_17.12.1944_

_Snow, Overcast, -5 Degrees Fahrenheit_

_All of the available troops and nurses have left the tent; only I remain. The Germans have launched a surprise attack, something Mr. Kakashi—Captain is his formal title—suspected was a ploy to separate the Americans (us) from the British and force us to surrender to the Axis powers. That would not ever happen, though. General Bradley would never let the Americans surrender, not when we are so close to winning this war. _

_I am worried about the nurses as well, mainly Megan and Stephanie. We went through the very early stages of the Battle of Hurtgen Forest together before being repositioned here in Ardennes, and Megan still hadn't recovered from that ghastly head wound she received while digging up one of our men after the first round of fighting. It was a shell from the other side, I believe, and she most likely has artillery shrapnel lodged in her brain; the entry point was the left temple. _

_I very much relied on her knowledge of femoral artery wounds in particular, and other major wounds of the leg. She apparently saw an incredible amount of leg wounds during her posts, and she helped Stephanie and I on more than one occasion. I just hope nothing bad happens to her, though I fear she will not return. This attack took everyone by surprise, and the preparations were hasty, perhaps too hasty. _

_After the news of the initial attack reached us yesterday, there was a scramble for clean uniforms and weaponry (and, for more isolated parties, a pornographic romance novel) and the entire unit deployed from our area, even including some sick we were watching. After everyone left, I put on a spare uniform that forlornly lay solitary on a sick cot, just to see what it was like. After wearing these unbearable calico abominations for so long, I was only trying to see what hell the fabrics factories made the soldiers endure. I took Captain's helmet, too. I was sure he would not mind a bit. _

_I went outside and planned to walk around and clean a spare rifle, when I just felt sad all of a sudden. It came on me so fast I did not know what to do but cry. I tried singing a song to myself, since that usually helps, when I heard a gunshot very close by. I dodged to the side and looked around me, and there was a German sniper in full view across the river on a small hill. If he was trying to attempt camouflage, he failed miserably. I took up the rifle from the snow where I had dropped it and, loading the cartridge, shot back at my mysterious assailant._

_I could tell even yards away that he was under the influence of some drug, probably a hallucinogen of some sort, and was extremely dehydrated. When he passed out into the snow, my suspicions confirmed, it was only at the extreme persistence of my conscious that I felt the need to show mercy, which compelled me to drag him in the tent._

_I accomplished this by means of a makeshift stretcher, and deposited him on one of the empty cots. After removing his outer clothing for sterilization and general inspection, I found no papers on him, and he was not wearing dog tags, which struck me as odd. I assume he has dropped them, but I do not feel the need to find them at this point, and there will be no finding anything anyway in all this snow._

_I prepared a rag and some precious water for his fever, which was beginning to fester at an alarming rate, and washed his head and arms off. The patient, as I mean to call him here until he is well enough to provide me with a name, woke up in a delirious state and spoke to me in rapid German which I did not understand. His eyes were clear for several minutes after I managed to calm him, but began to fog over again as he slipped back into the fever, normal for someone suffering deliria. _

_He awoke many times for several minutes consecutively, and each time I have pushed back the dehydration a little more. This morning he sat up in bed and made eye contact with me as I gave him additional water, and even had the strength to insult my lack of food for his breakfast. While looking for something to sate his hunger, I found this blank journal tucked into the ration boxes, and decided to keep logs on the situation of things, especially the patient's condition and all I can find out from him. Perhaps he even has information on the whereabouts of my comrades._

* * *

Unfortunately, the only things that Sakura girl managed to find out the next day were Deidara's name, that he had a major attitude, and how much he loved to fly planes, all in very broken English. Deidara had spent the majority of his life unsatisfied, ignored, and tossed aside, and he planned to take advantage of his situation whole-heartedly.

Sakura was a good nurse, Deidara supposed, but she had an atrocious temper. And for some reason he couldn't put his shaking fingers on, he just loved to rile her up. Throughout his second day in the tent, he made it his personal mission to make her explode, unrestrained fury permeating every canvas wall and pulling her hair out in wads.

In his shop in the little German city, he barely saw women except on the days he went shopping for groceries and, very rarely, clothing. Everything else was taken care of by the government after they had become interested in his line of work all of a sudden. Perhaps the scarcity of women in his life provoked him to stare unabashedly at the girl when she brought his thin soup to him, admiring the way her nurse's outfit left a lot to the imagination. Most men would find him crazy for his opinion on how women should dress, but Deidara liked using his imagination. He had a _good_ imagination, and hated letting it go to waste.

Then again, it was most likely what provoked him to impulsively reach out for her as she turned from his bed—empty bowl in hand and scowling at his shameless ogling—and soundly goose her from behind. She acted as delightfully planned, shrieking and throwing the bowl up as it flew from her grip, landing with a muffled thump as it hit the tent floor. Whirling around with both hands protecting her humiliated backside, Sakura glared at Deidara, hoping, he supposed, to slap him in the face and scream unintelligible English in his general direction. What actually happened, though, which involved her tripping over the bowl on the ground and falling flat on her face, was _so_ much more satisfying.

Deidara burst out laughing, feeling relieved. Being injured was such a wonderful thing, and he wondered why he didn't do it more often. All the stress of his past life seemed to melt temporarily away with a single clumsy action of this American girl. This was just great. Vaguely he wondered if she was good in bed, and if the cot would be able to stand up through all he planned to do with her.

He hadn't anticipated what came _next,_ however, as Sakura burst into tears, sharply shoved herself to a crouch and darted out of the tent, stumbling once or twice on the way, hands covering her face as she sobbed.

Momentarily stunned, Deidara could only stare after her, motionless. _Actually, that's what I do all day. Should I feel guilty? Well, maybe I shouldn't have laughed. Still, she's only a woman._ A gust of air surged from outside, bringing with it bits of snow and ice and the sound of a terrible grief. _Okay, she can't be _that_ put out about it. It has to be something else. Crazy American women._ Deidara decided not to feel guilty about it, because he _didn't,_ and go and see what was wrong. After all, she had left the tent flap open, he was a patient recovering from extreme medical conditions, and the cold wasn't helping anything. If he happened to see her while he walked precariously to tie down the flap, well, then that was just coincidence. And if he apologized in his very best English and offered a hand, then it was only the effect of delirium.

Deidara slowly pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, gasping for air. Every move he made seemed taxing and exhausted him, and he winced at the pain in his chest every time he breathed. It seemed that escaping constant control and apathy sent him to a place where he was weak and defenseless instead. Gritting his teeth, Deidara slowly swung his legs out of the covers and set them gently on the canvas floor, stopping for a moment to catch his breath again. It wasn't fair that he had to lay here and be babied by that girl, anyway. Germans were to be better than any other race even while ill, and that he needed help whatsoever was an absurd concept. Sakura had found him by chance, and he would've been perfectly fine by himself.

Still, he couldn't blame her for following her nursing instincts. Despite being an American, she had a way with soothing people. Had she been German, she would make a fine wife for the entirety Third Reich to hold up as an example for all the new mothers to follow. Taking a final breath, Deidara steeled himself for the final step, braced his feet on the floor, pushed off the cot, got his balance as he stood straight for the first time in days, lifted his right foot to begin the trek to the front flap—it looked so _far—_and promptly fell flat on his face.

_Touché._

Raising himself up with his palms flat on the ground as the rush of adrenaline gave him some much-needed energy, Deidara screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Why was everything still spinning? Didn't that girl have any _real_ medicine? His headache ensured that the sobs coming steady from outside were replayed inside his head in crystal-clear stereo, however, so maybe she had it planned from the beginning. Crazy bitch.

Two more trips to the bottom of the tent eventually got him, panting heavily, to the front flap. He clung to the rough canvas, temporarily spent, the ice crystals forming on the inside of the opening melting with slight touches of his body and sending chills up his spine. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable standing there in his underwear, Deidara peered outside, trying to ignore the wailing wind as he looked for a head of pink hair. Nothing but rolling hills and forests blanketed in virgin snow met his vision for miles.

A loud sniff startled him and he turned his head to the left to see the girl curled in a fetal position, leaning as much on the tent as she dared, fists curled up tightly and shivering violently. Huffing quietly and racking his brain for his English linguistic class lessons, he opened his mouth cautiously in an attempt to get her attention.

"…Hello."

Sakura's head shot up and she stared at him with a lost expression on her face for a split second before scrunching up her features into the most feral scowl she could manage. The sudden contrast almost had him taken aback. "You shouldn't be out of bed," she snarled, and Deidara could almost hear her teeth clenching together.

He blinked, wondering what he could possibly say in response to _that._

_I could always play concerned. Because I'm _not,_ really. Not even guilty. Not a bit._ "The air is very cold, yes?"

"I'm fine," she gritted, apparently not planning to give in anytime soon. Deidara fell silent, unsure what to do. Talking to women was a trying task for any man, but somehow the whole situation left him feeling miserable and awkward. He felt intruding for some reason; he felt like anyone else would know what to do but him. He hated that feeling. Clearing his throat, he vainly tried again.

"The cold air will injure your lungs, yes. We should lie ourselves down."

"And I suppose you're _such_ an expert on the subject."

Deidara smiled. "…Yes."

Sakura's face slowly went blank, as though pondering the situation in front of her. A dull boom from the north caused her to stiffen before a reply ever came, and she scrambled to her feet, former misgivings about her condition vanishing in Deidara's mind as a sharp fear took its place. Still, he thought it was best to take advantage of her temporary reverie as he gripped her upper arm and yanked her into the tent, igniting shrieks of indignation from the girl as she thrashed against his hand.

Dropping her on the canvas, breaths coming out heavy once more as he tied the flap closed, he dropped his hands to his knees as he gave up standing and dropped to his knees next to the girl, who had stopped her incessant screeching, terror-filled eyes turned towards the ceiling.

"What is it?" She whispered, voice shaking as badly as her arms. Deidara slowly crawled over to where she sat and looked up with her.

"_Luftwaffe."_

Sakura began to cry again. Overhead, the bombers screamed their vengeance.

* * *

Sakura took a shuddering breath again, holding her tea in a viselike grip as the planes roared overhead, more frightening than they had been even an hour ago. How many were there? When would they stop? Did they see the tent? No, they couldn't. The tent was built especially for this terrain, for this weather. Besides, she chanced to hope that their sights were set on cities elsewhere.

She felt horrible for thinking that the deaths of civilians were more preferable than her own, but the feeling that she was cripplingly purblind in more ways than one left her with an absent conscience. She closed her eyes, trying to will away everything that had been happening. She remembered the call of duty that summoned the soldiers in her station—her friends—once more. She didn't want to remember it.

"Your tea will become cold."

And then there was _him._ He just waltzed into her care, practically, and annoyed the hell out of Sakura every chance he got. It wasn't enough that he stretched her goodwill and patience to the limit, though; oh, no. He had to be a pervert and make her cry. And his over-abuse of the word 'yes' was in no way attractive. Not even slightly cute. Oh, no, siree. And the thing that absolutely did not in _any_ way make her wish for him to be on the floor with her on top was the way he apologized in his own crazy, foreign way—"I am sorry for it, okay."—and bowed at the waist, holding one hand behind his back as she stood stone still amidst a symphony of the Nazi planes' engines.

Then he—_Deidara,_ she reminded herself—expressed his sorrow for the absence of tea and sugar, because in Germany tea was a traditional way for friends to get to know one another. Sakura could feel her mental stereotypes falling apart at the seams by then. Maybe all Germans weren't so bad, and maybe a lot of them really _didn't_ believe in the Nazi Way, just as her commanders would have her believe.

This Deidara wasn't so bad, especially when he was drifting off to sleep in his cot as he was now. She smiled lightly. The tea wasn't hard to find, she only had to take off her jacket to find it. She recalled Deidara's dubious expression as she took it off and turned it inside out to reveal a brown package sewn discreetly on the back. After explaining him the story of how she hid it to dodge the ration rules, he smirked at her and slyly remarked, "I have thought Americans girls behaved, ja."

She would've hit him if he weren't injured.

The tea was easy to prepare with more water from the storage barrel, although Sakura noted that it was about time to boil some more snow again. The small pot she found made enough tea for exactly two, and Sakura made use of the rations to make some semblance of a sandwich with vitamin bread and dried meat strips while Deidara sweetened the tea before climbing back in bed, looking incredulously at her when she added two more heaping spoonfuls of sugar in her personal cup.

Now that things had quieted down since then, Sakura stared into the murky depths of Darjeeling as she pondered how to ask her next question. _Best not be too vague about it. Straightforwardness seems the best route here._

"Um…Deidara?"

"Yes."

"What is that?"

"That?"

Sakura frantically flailed her arms upwards. "Those planes. Germans. _Luftwaffe."_

Deidara blinked. "Yes." He pointed up with her and raised his cup to his lips. _"Luftwaffe."_

She made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. Why was everything so complicated? Didn't he know how to speak English good?

"No, no. I mean…well, _why?"_

He paused mid-sip and stared at her for a moment before taking a drink. He looked towards the flap, and Sakura could almost feel his anxiety. "They attack the Americans_…um __zu_for to separate from British peoples. Win the war."

Eyes downcast, Sakura finished off her tea and set it in the damp pot to clean it later. _So Kakashi was right. If that's true, then…_

"Deidara, why would they even do that? The Allied Powers are obviously winning the war. Our generals wouldn't give up at such a time as this."

Deidara winced as he leaned down and tossed his cup in the pot. The pot rattled and spun, and Sakura pursed her lips as she clung to the rim, never breaking her eye contact with the man. He bit his lip.

"_Führer…_he cares not so much about winning war as having…honor. Not now. His mind has gone bad."

Sakura snorted. "You mean _worse."_

"Yes." Deidara smiled and leaned back on the cot, pulling up the covers and closing his eyes. "Worse."

She sat quietly as she listened to Deidara's breathing, as it became deep and regular. His pneumonia was temporarily gone, but Sakura still expected the relapse at any time. All the excitement in the tent may have stopped the sicknesses plaguing the man for a little while, but that would only make them worse when they returned. _If only I hadn't run out crying._ Sakura cursed softly. _Not only was he up, he may have gotten a chill._

It wasn't his fault, though, so much as the whole war. Sakura Haruno, born and raised in a tiny town and in a house that sheltered not so much a family as a litter of children and people whom it was acceptable to title 'father' and 'mother.' From as early as twelve she was expected to earn money by doing small odd jobs, and came home exhausted almost every night, ashamed of her weakness.

That day, though, a woman came into town with intelligence, money, and an opportunity, one that Sakura didn't want to miss. The war barely started then, only in the dawn of its second year, was far away and of little consequence to Sakura. If she were to be trained—and even paid—to learn afflictions of the body, it would stay there in that town. It was nothing to worry about. Almost three years later, though, a rare visit from a senator who came from another state brought tragedy when a radical member of a pro-Nazi society poisoned his older brother. Miss Tsunade, or Nurse Tsunade as she answered to at work, was away treating croup in the wealthy Hyuuga family, and so the boy's life rested in Sakura's hands.

A stunningly well poison treatment session had the boy up within days, when before, death was surely imminent. Impressed, the boy's brother voiced his praise for the young nurse, and 'Sakura' became a household name in the South. Tsunade, duly impressed, convinced her to sign up for service in the military, as her skills would be much needed on the battlefield. Foolishly, Sakura agreed.

Standing up and grabbing the pot viciously, Sakura stalked out of the tent, and froze when she reached the door. _There's…no noise._ The planes' monotonous buzzing tone had finally stopped, leaving Sakura with a slightly empty feeling. Slowly reaching a hand out to untie the flap, Sakura cautiously stuck her head out of the tent and glanced about her. It looked safe, but then who _was_ safe…anywhere? High stepping to the river after closing the flap behind her, Sakura leaned down, teeth clattering together, and broke a thin casing of ice to dunk the cups and pot in. _I'm glad the river didn't freeze all the way. At least there's some comfort there._ Watching herself clean the dishes as though from far away, Sakura allowed herself more time to reminisce.

Her signing up for the military nursing service was only the beginning. Making new friends was fun, even though those war games with Megan, Stephanie, and the other girls had been tiring, and learning all those new things was absolutely fascinating. Sakura never expected to be here, her family having more money than ever from her endeavors, when it was the norm for women in her town to grow up having a baby a year, and expected to cook and clean for every one of them.

The call to duty she regarded as little more than a field trip to the local hospital. How foolish.

She was given time to pack her bags before leaving, and noticed a small parcel tumble out of the mess of clothes she stuffed in her small suitcase. Opening it, she had found the very tea and sugar she had shared with Deidara just moments before. Knowing that this valuable gift—from someone, but who?—would be taken and used in the military, she had used her last few minutes and sewn the package into her jacket, spreading the contents out to look as inconspicuous as possible. Now, she was glad to have saved it for so long. She loved to share things with friends, even if they _were_ scrawny little Nazi boys.

Sakura paused and gazed skyward, searching the horizon for any traces of plane fumes, still scrubbing. _Friends._

Aside from her friends at the medical academy, there weren't many. The soldiers were sort-of friends, the kind that treated her sociably one moment, then were disturbingly affronting and perverted the next. Miss Tsunade told her to expect that, though, and her last present to Sakura, a box of war-issue condoms, made Sakura blush and bite her fingernails furiously as her beloved mentor smiled and recited instructions on how men liked to be pleasured.

_That_ situation definitely went on Sakura's list of Things I Do Not Want to Happen Ever Again. She loved Tsunade dearly despite her drunken rages and abominable gambling, but all of that brazen—were you really supposed to get on your knees and…Sakura just hated thinking about it—information that she never wanted to be ready for was treated as useless and something horrible to whisper to the other junior nurses after lights-out.

Her first battle shattered all of her glorious expectations of life and war. Neji was brought in to the tent, someone she had seen once on a checkup trip to the Hyuuga's, and a shot had been fired straight into his chest—thankfully missing his heart and lungs—and out the other side. Blood soaked his uniform and Kakashi, who carried the boy on his back, had several injuries of his own. Shaking with fear, Sakura's straight-A's seemed to fail her as she watched senior nurses and doctors rush to treat the two men, everything slow and dull as though she were watching the scene from under a lake of murky, green water.

She darted roughly to the side and she ran out to vomit into the grass, but shock cleared the rising bile as she looked on at a line of injured soldiers brought in on stretchers, by friends, or none at all, as they drug themselves on the ground, the hills behind them lit up cheerfully by the enemy's firebombs. The noise was deafening, and pleads for water by searching hands overwhelmed Sakura, and she fled to the opposite side of the tent, leaning on the taut canvas and ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks as she listened to the screams of a man afforded no anesthetics as bullets were removed from his leg.

After she drew up enough courage to wander blindly back in, bombers still wailing overhead, Sakura's troubles did not grace her to end. The first soldier she checked with quivering hands seemed to be asleep, but as soon as her back was turned, he'd pinched her thighs smartly while his roommates joined up a rowdy hooting and whistling and the culprit raised his arms, as though welcoming the praise. Determined not to be cowed, and emboldened from her visions of the outside world, Sakura raised her arm and smacked him in the face as hard as she could, storming back outside to an approaching ambulance, clenching her jaw at what she knew she would find but resolving to do her duty regardless.

Shaking her head and forcing her mind back to the present, Sakura shoved her hands back into the pot and scrubbed furiously. It wasn't fair that she'd gotten into this. No one warned her how bad it would be. And now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with an attractive German. He was probably just waiting for a chance to pounce, force her to the ground and make good use of those condoms in her tin case of personal items. So absorbed in her thoughts, Sakura failed to notice the snap of a German sniper rifle from across the hills, and screamed and jumped back when a wingless pigeon dropped like a rock into her formerly clean pot.

* * *


	3. Star Crossed Pigeon

Thanks to the person who pointed out the language tip for me; despite lots of reviewers having quite mixed opinions over the use of "Liebchen" (and I don't even speak German, so I smile and nod every time), I think it's safe to change certain usages to the other options.

* * *

Sakura stood stock still for about four seconds before she screamed and threw her arms up defensively. This was it. After surviving endless weeks on battlefields here and there, she was doomed to die by a rogue hand grenade dropped from a plane. She closed her eyes. That had to be what it was. Maybe they disguised them to look like birds now to throw people off.

_But hand grenades don't bleed, do they? Pull yourself together, girl._ Sakura slowly opened her eyes and let her arms drop down to her sides, relieved when she felt the blood flowing back into them after being held up for so long. Peering at the pot and trying to ascertain as many facts as she could based on appearance alone, Sakura stood on tiptoe to ogle the star-crossed kitchenware from several yards away where she had thrown herself in fear.

She couldn't see directly inside, but the top of the pot was smeared with the gossamer blood often ascribed to fowl decent, and the snow around the base was permeated with the blood and littered with primary feathers.

Sakura inched toward the unfortunately inscrutable pot, resituating her hands in front of her face, wanting to at least get a look at the pigeon. _I'm sure it's just a normal pigeon. They're everywhere around here. And maybe I can find out what happened to it. It could mean bad news for Deidara and me. _Finding herself at the brink of the circular array of carnage, Sakura stood on her tiptoes again and leaned as far forward as she dared without falling. What she saw had her forcing her tea back down.

_Oh, gross._

Dropping to a crouch, Sakura hop-walked on the balls of her feet in an attempt to keep her hands from the freezing earth as she braved the final inches to her goal. The frigid air was already beginning to work on the blood, which started to ice over and sparkle with a morbid gaiety.

Sakura extended her arm as far as she could without hurting herself and delicately reached inside the opening, groping about apprehensively for a tail feather or a beak that she could draw the carcass out with. She squealed when her hand blindly encountered a moist and pulpy _something_ that stained her skin dark red, down clinging to the wetness. Determined not let a dead bird dominate her senses, Sakura impulsively grabbed a clutch of feathers and hauled a dripping, quickly hardening pigeon out of a puddle of blood and entrails.

Backpedaling as gracefully as one could while squatting, Sakura swiped a depression into the snow and transferred the body quickly (without making an unnecessary mess) to her makeshift observation facility. She wiped the snow on her clothes, wary of the risk of ice forming on her skin. The last thing anyone needed right now was an elite nurse getting frostbitten. Placing her hands on her knees, she leaned in close, hoping to discover the origin of this bird's murder.

It was an unusual injury, but typical of its breed. The shot had apparently entered at precisely the right angle to cross—through the body and out the other side—under the bird's wings. The power of the impact had then completely blown the wings off and caused the poor animal to drop tens of feet to his death in Sakura's pot. She gingerly turned the bird over, exposing the frozen entrance hole of the bullet.

It was small and round, as any other run-of-the-mill bullet wound look to an amateur nurse. She was far from being an amateur, however, and grimly frowned as a quick glance at the other side of the bird confirmed her fearful suspicions. The exit wound was very large, surrounded by flaps of skin, and distorted veins mapped out a clear verdict for Sakura. This was clearly the work of a sniper. A long-range sniper, probably, but even that didn't bring a shred of hope. This meant the German troops were four, five days away. A week if they were lucky. _This is bad._

"This is bad." Deidara suddenly appeared behind her, unconsciously echoing her thoughts as he gazed first at Sakura, then the bloodied pigeon. "My countrymen will be here soon. If they should be called it. You should go back inside. Leave the bird. Wash your hands. It is not right that women are covered in blood."

Sakura huffed. Even though it was kind of touching, she didn't appreciate men domineering over her, not even a cute one. Not even one with an inappropriately enduring accent. Still, she could use the time inside to write this strange occurrence in her journal. This certainly was a strange week. _First men drop into the snow, and then birds drop out of the sky. Nothing is right. _She looked at Deidara, who, in turn, was looking off into the woods with a deep expression painting his features.

Raising herself to full height and wincing as her joints popped in painful protest on the way up, she walked towards him so she was standing on his left, looking out into the woods with him.

"What are you looking at?"

Deidara made a noncommittal grunt. "Now I must take care of some things."

"What do you mean?"

"I will return, yes."

Sakura narrowed her eyes. "You can't just go roaming in the woods! We don't know who's out there, and you're sick, and—and—I'm not letting you go!" She grabbed his arm. "You're staying right here, mister!"

"_Gott in Himmel, Frau!_ I go to piss!"

Sakura blushed furiously. "…Oh. I—I'm sorry."

Deidara snorted, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began sauntering off to the snow-laden trees. _Where did he get—oh!_ Sakura ran back in the tent to check the chest at the foot of his cot. If he'd taken all of those clothes…oh, he was so in for it. She would go out there after him, peeing or not, and give him a piece of her mind, that was for damn sure. _Actually, I have to go out there anyway. The soporific effect of the lingering fever could kick in any time. He's endangering himself by galloping around like nothing's wrong. He'll pass out in the snow and die before I get there, practically. Not like I care..._

She stomped the last few feet to the entrance, kicking snow along the way. _I fall in love too fast. Just don't look at him unless you have to, Sakura. Then nothing will ever happen._ She sniffed from the cold and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand._ Why can't I believe it, though?_

It wasn't until later that Sakura realized she hadn't thought to worry about her regiment all day.

--------------------

Deidara strolled through the woods, hands still in pockets, trying to find a good tree. Women would never understand this, but a man couldn't relieve himself against just _any_ tree. The ideal one had spongy bark, which would absorb the—Deidara shook his head violently. Was that the fever talking? Did people _normally_ think about piss in their spare time? Then again, Deidara wasn't much of an ordinary man.

Neither was that Sakura girl. _Crazy bitch._ He wished she wouldn't nag so much, but then again, he _liked_ her nagging. Besides his grandmother's loving scolding to be careful and wear your sweater, _Mein Schatz__,_ when he visited in the Summer, during Christmas, anytime he could, really, women didn't seem to care about him enough to give him the time of day, let alone _pretend_ concern for his health.

He knew she was a nurse, and therefore obligated to care for him upon his grievous illness, but there was nothing dictating this…this extra giving of concern that provoked her to order him to get back inside, those simple words that meant so much to him and evoked feelings of some emotion that Deidara didn't care to explore further upon, and simple embarrassment at _having_ that emotion. Deidara frowned as he came upon his perfect tree. There he went again lashing out at her in the wrong way. This was no way to get a girl to marry a man!

_She'll warm up to me. Eventually. And _then_ we'll get married. And have lots of babies. _He unzipped his American military-grade fly. _Because I am completely qualified to become a baby-making machine. No one has to look far to see that. _He sighed, eyes blissfully closed, and leaned his forehead against the tree trunk. He _really_ had to go. Deidara just couldn't get rid of the feeling that he'd been too harsh with this whole ordeal, though. And _crude._ Women didn't deserve to be treated like that. Women did everything. Those trips to the farm proved that and more still.

He could remember watching _both_ his grandparents work in the fields all day, and then his grandfather would collapse in his chair in the living room and turn on the radio, but his grandmother never sat down. She went straight into the kitchen, where she made a snack for Deidara and brought his grandfather some of her homemade _Bier._

Come to think of it, Deidara had no memories whatsoever of his grandmother sitting, save for when she had his head in her lap when he caught his annual flu, telling him the story of Hansel and Gretel, Rumpelstiltskin, or whatever she _knew_ he wanted _right then._ He zipped his fly up again and began to stroll back down the path, thoughts straying back to that Sakura girl. She had really nice ankles. Being an artist—the production of explosives _also_ counted as art, not just sculpting—Deidara learned over the years to appreciate the beautiful things in life and human nature. No, not just appreciation, survival.

Germany was becoming just a bit weird, in the kindest of words, and what better way to completely ignore your impending judgment day with the censor-happy Third Reich than to immerse yourself in the wonders of nature? Women were lovely. He had no problem admitting that to himself or anyone else. He adored the soft curves and gentle transitions from legs to hips to waist to breasts and everything in between, everything that made a woman a _woman _and artistic, even, without even trying.

Sometimes Deidara felt like he could stare at a woman all day and never get bored. Unfortunately, for him, most women took this the wrong way, tended to avoid him, and tended to tell _other_ women to avoid him. As he was hit once again with the realization that this situation was his first experience for _real_ with women, not just prostitutes or his grandmother—a rather pathetic grand tally—he decided that from now on he was going to work this out. Really, he was.

As Deidara snorted at his own insolence (no one was around to see him make funny faces at himself, so what the hell), luck decided to fall upon him in the form of a son-of-a-bitch, dried-up leaf from the very tiptop of an Ardennes tree. The leaf had nothing against him, really, but that was of no concern to Deidara, who swore vehemently when it landed right in his eye at _the exact moment_ he looked up.

He was only trying to shake his non-existent bangs into place (it was a habit by now), but now instead of mourning his lack of real hair as per usual, he was clutching his eye and eliciting more and more creative versions of 'shit' by the second. And _now_ he was stumbling off the path into some dehydrated, low tree branches (which fell on him as he brushed past them, also sending down pounds of snow under his jacket and into his pants) and tripping over a fucking root, sending him careening onto a smooth, rounded, metal surface, on which he slid down and, immediately following, collapsed in the snow.

Wanting to cry with frustration but refusing to, Deidara fisted his hand and punched the unseen metal object, damning it, the leaf, and various other inanimate objects in his immediate vicinity. Suddenly, he froze. _Metal?_

Making a furious effort to blink the rest of the leaf dust out and victoriously succeeding, Deidara sprang up and hastily brushed the snow from his extremities, staring speechless at what met his eyes. _This_ was certainly a change in plans. Screw knocking out the girl and carrying her over enemy lines, eloping, and having seven children. Now they could go out in style. …Although he _did_ still plan to carry out that last half. _No, I'm getting way ahead of myself. Don't count your chickens before you boil them in hot oil. Isn't that what the Americans say? This could've been here for years. Just calm down. Don't get your hopes up, Deidara._

It was a plane. A Lockheed P-38, to be exact. Deidara smiled and ran a hand over the chipped paint. _Might as well check it out inside, if I can figure out a way to open it, or at least look in first._

A few more strings of curse words, numerous falls into the snowdrifts, and some serious problem solving got Deidara panting and clinging to the cockpit window for dear life. Prying open the pitiable excuse for a door at the side of the windshield, Deidara balanced himself on the thick outer and inner layers of plane covering and leaned in to look, hoping that what he found wouldn't completely crush his temporary optimism.

* * *

She peeked out of the flap for the fortieth time, the molested metal chest tipped over behind her as though prostrating on the floor to plead its suffering. One would expect the contents to be strewn haphazardly about the tent floor, but the problem was there was _nothing in it._ Sakura fumed and balled her fists.

"That _idiot._ He may be a patient, but I don't have to stand for this nonsense. I was _going_ to get him something to wear, but oh, no, he had to go and filch someone _else's_ clothes. Damn German. I guess it's true they're born like that. He is so dead when I find him. _So_ dead."

Sakura stomped in a circle, debating what to do. She wanted to go out after him, but…well, what was there to think about? Maybe he'd collapsed in the snow and was dying. _That would be a blessing from God Almighty. Wait, what am I saying? That's not right! No, Sakura, no!_

She drew her fists to her temples, trying to assuage a growing headache and only serving to agitate it further. _Oh, why am I so damn_ nice?

Grabbing some nearby boots and jacket, Sakura sat on the closest cot and quickly dressed, thoughts running through her head too fast to catch. _He'd better be okay. I'd feel so guilty if he died. Why _am_ I so nice? They don't deserve it! _None_ of them do! They don't care about me, only themselves! _

But there was Naruto, who always had a smile. 'Hey, tiger. Got some string? I really ripped one today.'

And there was Captain Kakashi, who always had a motto. 'Sakura, when are you going to learn that it's not the soldier, it's the unit?'

And there was Sasuke—before he defected to the Italians, anyway—who always had…an attitude. 'Just get out of the way. I can give my own self a bath. I don't need a woman's help, especially not _yours.'_

Sakura clutched the coat around her and stepped outside into the snow, tromping through Deidara's still-visible footprints towards the treeline. "At least it's not snowing now," Sakura murmured to herself. "At least I—_we_—can find our way back properly." A harsh, mechanical sound resounded from deep within the foliage, shattering the pristine tranquility. Sakura gasped. "Deidara!'"

Breaking into a run—having a difficult time staying upright—Sakura dashed towards the noise, trying desperately to pinpoint a location. Were the other Germans there? Was this all a trap? Should she keep going? Something inside of her knew that either way, she'd regret it if she never knew what happened. Besides, if there _were_ other Germans, she was dead either way. Better to die with a satisfied curiosity than a satisfied ignorance. Even if being ignorant meant to die, which would be unfortunate, but—Sakura jumped.

There was that horrible noise again! It sounded like someone was trying to scrape two shovels together, or a file on concrete. She quickened her pace, blinking when Deidara's footsteps took on an erratic turn and began to lurch around. As visions of his horrible death scenarios chose that particular moment to have a free cinema showing inside Sakura's imagination, a great number of which included tree branches impaling a pallid Deidara, all for a low, low price with free popcorn, she held her breath hopefully. She forgot to let it out when anger suddenly took the place of terror.

Deidara paused and whirled around, sheet of metal still clutched in his hand, looking, for all intents and purposes, completely ignorant and naïve. To Sakura's surprise, he smiled brilliantly at her and gestured happily with his free hand as he greeted her cordially in his pitiable, attractive, unpracticed English. _No, wait a second. Not attractive. …Dammit!_

"Stop yelling, _Frau._ The trees will become deaf because your screeching."

Sakura sighed. She would never be able to understand how he could smile and insult someone spontaneously. Surely, it was a man thing. Then again, Sai was a bit weird about the whole smiling thing. He'd come to their regiment from the National Guard in Arizona or something, but always refused to get any more technical than that, which left some to wonder at his authenticity.

Naruto gradually warmed up to him. She was glad, as that ordeal with Sasuke left Naruto needing another guy to hang out with besides Neji all the time. Neji was just _too_ weird sometimes. Spending most of one's free time staring at birds and murmuring their possible prophetic meaning of existence—instead of 'going out in the woods,' as the men were wont to phrase it, or sneaking some French wine when the nurses were turned away—was unnerving, to say the least.

"Take this. We put it on the other side, _ja?_ I have the tool; I found it…inside the windows." Deidara's statement broke Sakura out of her reverie, and she looked up to see him waving the metal sheet around in her direction. Walking over to him and bracing her feet—Deidara scoffed—she clutched the other end and assisted him in moving the unwieldy sheet to the other side of the plane, where a gap in the right wing section alerted her where to maneuver her heavy parcel.

She slowly released the wing section and backed away, allowing Deidara to expertly pound the part in the place and produce some sort of bulky tool, with which he did _something_ to put the sheet in almost perfect symphony with the rest of the wingspan. Apparently not finished, Deidara moved to the tip of the wing and positioned himself to see directly across the flat surface, relaxing once again and putting his hands into his pockets when he finished admiring his work.

Sakura wondered…no. It was impossible. Still…

"…Deidara?"

"Hmm."

"Could this thing…fly?"

He grinned and brandished the mystery tool. "Your mouth steals my thoughts. Or perhaps you are a bit more intelligent than I have thought."

Sakura smiled back and stood up straighter. "Why, thank y—"

"It almost makes me forget that you are a women."

Sakura stiffened and glared. _"Excuse_ me? And it's 'woman,' not 'women.' If you're going to insult me you should do it in proper English, _Nazi."_

Deidara dramatically rolled his eyes and juggled the tool distractedly. "Women are nice, but they can not do some things. _Zum Beispiel_…fix this plane, yes. A woman only fixes the plane. A man can feel the plane's suffering and knows perfect what to heal."

Sakura snorted. "That was _the_ most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I am fully capable of fixing a plane."

"Oh, _ja?"_ Deidara's eyebrows rose. "Why do you stand and chatter like a bird when there is work to be done, yes?" He gestured to the plane.

Sakura smoothed out her skirt primly. "Well, I _meant_ I would fix the plane if I knew how." She blushed when Deidara resumed laughing. "Well—well, _you_ don't know how to fix a broken leg! You'd probably do one of those stupid battlefield techniques that aren't really healthy in the long run, and—and—and then come to me expecting _me_ to fix it—_heal_ it when you just _completely_ screwed up the arteries in the breaking area, and then I _try_ to fix it and people get _mad_ when I can't, and then _don't look at me like that_ I have to do whatever I can, night and day, to—"

His kiss took her completely off guard, and she found herself taking one step back in the snow. He followed accordingly.

Other than being unexpected, however, the kiss wasn't too particularly special. He was putting in tremendous effort and all, running his hands up and down her arms and then moving one to her lower back and head to push her against him, but it just wasn't right.

She didn't want to have to go through this kind of experience with him, she realized. Everything was too soon, and she was having those terrible flashbacks now, those ones where…

She clenched her fists and put in her own effort to be as static as possible.

Probably discouraged at his failed attempts to insert his tongue unceremoniously down her throat—_Disgusting Nazi_—Deidara broke away from her with a sigh and briskly walked back towards the plane.

He paused after a moment, back facing her. "…You talk too much."

Sakura was too shaken to say anything, and tried to curl into herself as much as possible while still standing. Deidara's actions, which she had admittedly anticipated, shocked her to the point of mere passive resistance and an absence of physical retaliation. She felt violated, in some strange, ridiculous way, and she abruptly wished that Naruto were there to comfort her…and maybe beat the shit out of Deidara while he was at it.

Still, there was no hope for her here, alone in the woods with an insane enemy soldier who was probably very deprived of female interaction. Most soldiers were. That was no ready excuse to Sakura, though, who felt the beginnings of fury seep in from somewhere deep in her chest, overtaking the previously presiding helplessness. The remaining passiveness ebbed away as she stared at Deidara's hunched form over the wing, trying and failing to make it look like he was currently engaged in some elaborate fixating of some sort. She felt like going over there, grabbing his shoulders, and jamming her knee where the sun didn't shine.

* * *

Shuffling the metal around was hopefully enough to divert her attention from his increasingly reddening face, and he prayed she would be too docile to come over and give to him what he admitted he deserved. He heard her footsteps crunching methodically in the snow, coming towards him, and paused in his administrations once more, unconsciously bringing his legs closer together. You never knew what women planned on doing. Precautions and that sort of thing.

She sighed loudly, and Deidara waited for the bomb to fall.

"So can this thing fly or what?"

He blinked. "What?"

Another sigh. "The plane. Can the plane fly? Like…take off and go up in the air. Fly. The plane."

He glared at her over his shoulder. "I _know_ what you said. I was only—yes. Yes, the plane can fly."

Sakura looked down at the snow and began digging a hole with her foot. "Why?"

Closing his eyes, he wondered if she was _this_ dense or if she was just messing with his head. "You know why, all right? The German Army is surrounding this area. Your friends got deployed to fight the Army, yes? They will not survive. We have surrounded you. _Unternehmen: __Wacht am Rhein_ has been planned to perfection.

"You Americans are too proud of yourselves," he continued. "You have not guarded well against the Germans. You are too busy with your attack plans, and have not flown planes in order to search in the air." Deidara heaved himself up atop the wing and walked slowly to the cockpit area, arms out for balance. Reaching the main entry window, he patted it fondly. "Like this plane. It is in good condition, and there is…the fuel in it. But you feel you didn't have to use it, and because of this, you suffer, yes."

He looked back at Sakura, not at all perturbed at the anger in her stance. He was even enjoying himself a bit. She was such an explosive woman. Respected or not, he wished more than anything now to just see her completely lose control, scream and stomp her boots on the ground; then when she exhausted herself, she would be back to normal once more, and he could do it all over again. What a swell idea! But…it wouldn't do to have her cry again. _Better be more careful._

"The Germans are running out of fuel. They will be in this area if we do not escape somehow. We can take this plane over the Western Front, as you call it. The Germans will not expect us, and this plane fast enough so that when they come alive in their heads, we will already be past them, _ja._ We should look for…lost fuel cells. This much in this tank will only get us a little past the line." He paused for a moment. "I was thinking…we should go to my house. The Army has now taken my things, but I have a hidden place in basement. Very secret. Will not be found, I think."

"W—we?"

"There is some money. Worthless in war, yes. But also some explosives. My art, you know. And—what? What is it now?" Deidara paused and looked at the girl, her face void of all aggression, replaced instead by some sort of emotion that he _refused_ to think about.

"'We'? You mean you're taking _me,_ too?"

Deidara suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and he turned back to look inside the cockpit, hands against the glass to ward the unholy brightness of the snow glare, trying his best to look nonchalant.

"It is not wise to leave someone to die in a hopeless situation. You will come, maybe leave when we come to a town, hide until the war is over. You do not have to stay. If you do, perhaps we can go to Sweden. They are neutral, but they are giving Germany things, metal, and other things, in order to…not be invasion, _ja." _Deidara shrugged, feeling very proud of his act.

Her embrace took him completely off guard.

How she got so close to him, up on the wing, even, completely baffled him, but that was suddenly a very trivial thing compared to the feeling of her body warm against his, a paradox of her earlier behavior and an almost sensual juxtaposition to the biting air all around them. Aside from grunting softly at the initial impact, Deidara was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do next, and backed up automatically at the pressure she put on his body until they were both flush against the cockpit. _That thing is sure getting a lot of action today._

Wanting to put his hands on her hips—It _wouldn't_ be groping. Really.—but not wanting to provoke her further, Deidara waited for some sort of explicit sign that it would be acceptable to engage in this touching ordeal, which was soon becoming a favorite on his list of things he enjoyed doing. Unfortunately, the—hug? Attempt to slowly strangle him? Pre-sexual intercourse ritual?—broke off as Sakura slowly pulled away, sniffing, wiping her eyes with her hands.

_Shit._ "Are you well, yes?"

She shuddered. "I'm fine."

Deidara nodded awkwardly. Why was everything so difficult all of a sudden?

"…Thank you, Deidara."

He blinked, and desperately tried to think of some way he could escape. _Got it._ "Yes…I go fix _Flugzeug_—I mean airplane." He pointed two thumbs at the airplane. "I go fix it now."Why was it so hard to recall a foreign language when you were flustered?

Eyes lighting up, Sakura reached for his arm before he had a chance to hop off the wing and dash to the other side. "There's no way this thing will fly before they get there. You won't be able to make it by yourself. You might be able to fix—heal it, whatever, but it'll be hard to get it out of all this snow.

"I…could learn to fix some things, too, if you wanted to show me. I'm a fast learner. We should go back and eat something now, I'll just make something with whatever I can find." She smiled coyly. "And maybe I can teach you how to properly bind a broken leg while I'm at it. Come on."

Deidara blinked and allowed her to get a better grip on his arm. He jumped off the wing in sync with her motions, following her blindly as she steered them back onto the main path and towards the camp once more.

* * *


	4. Don't Be That Way

**A/N: **There is sex in this one, so beware. It starts after the italics, but if you scroll down to the end and a little bit upwards you can miss it, if you don't like that sort of thing.

* * *

After nearly turning the whole tent upside down for fifteen minutes, Sakura managed to find some potatoes and, by some miracle, several tins of milk in order to make a quick lunchtime soup. She scurried back outside towards the fire that Deidara had expertly prepared, and dumped the potatoes and cans into the cleaned and re-cleaned pigeon pot while she turned to go back inside, hoping to find herbs of some sort. Salt and sugar were rare as hen's teeth during the war, but some strong enough seasoning could make up for that.

The onions she managed to find would do just as well, though. Grabbing a couple of trench knifes, Sakura formed a makeshift basket with her recently donned apron and put the onions and knives into the depression, cautiously walking back out to the fire again.

Deidara looked up at her and waved his own trench knife at the growing pile of potato peelings beside him in the snow. Sakura blinked and sat down on one of the two logs that he must have drug over while she was distracted with finding the ingredients. She reached her skirt over and dumped the onions into the pot, then spoke to him.

"I'll peel these onions. Just—just don't take the skin off of the potatoes, if you could. Try to get off as much dirt as you can but leave the skin on while you chop them. The skin has lots of extra vitamins and minerals we'll probably need." Sakura gasped. "Oh! There was some dried bacon and turkey in the—no, we should save that. For when we…leave."

Deidara smiled softly and continued peeling, this time leaving the outsides on. He honestly didn't know what the hell she was saying half the time because she talked so damn fast, but he could get by just listening for key words. Most people would feel frustrated in such a situation, and he knew Sakura did, but stress really didn't do anything to make it better In that case, he occasionally stopped listening to her altogether, content to simply listen to the ebb and flow of her voice.

Something occurred to him that he thought was unwise to pass up, however.

"…_Vögelchen?"_

Sakura trailed off, looking curiously at Deidara, who was already finished with the potatoes, dammit, while she was still trying not to kill herself with that knife. He had even already put the milk in the pot over the fire, too! Was he even listening to a word she said?

"What did you call me?"

"Nothing, nothing…how much food is there in the tent that can be dried? We should begin preparations, yes. Not a day that is lost."

Sakura blinked, suddenly sensing a reversal of alpha position. Did she really want Deidara to have that much control over her? "Oh, um…some fruit was delivered to us a couple days ago. I had already started drying it, but…there's some meat that I can cook and dry for sure." She dumped the onions in the pot, leaving the rest in the snow. "I'll go and check on that. Will you finish those?"

He nodded noncommittally and picked up the onions, resuming the peeling without a bump in his routine.

* * *

Deidara jolted awake, panting hard.

Whipping his head around frantically for a moment, he calmed when he realized he was only back in the tent. To his left, Sakura slept soundly on her cot, pushed haphazardly flush with his own. It would lessen her reaction time in case of emergency, she said, but he appreciated it for rather different options now available.

Now, though, his only thought was gratitude. Just looking at her chased away the _mara_ from his body, stable and comforting even while unconscious. He lay back on his cot and threw an arm languidly over his face as if trying to wash away the remnants of his dream.

_What do I do? What can I do? A horse rushed past him, terror-stricken, its rider dead from a rifle shot. A cloud of dust obscured his vision and he panicked, unable to breathe even the fume-scented air. He looked down at himself, in full uniform, clutching a doll with half a head in his right hand. His gun rested dutifully on his back and his hair was in perfect shape, long again, even. Why was he so clean? _

_He looked about him, trying to find the little girl. Surely, she was missing her doll. But where was she? Another horse ran past, this one carrying his father, who yelled at him while rushing past. Hurry up! You are worthless in this war! You are always worthless! It is because of you that Freyja died! Stupid boy!_

_Familiar pangs in Deidara's chest sprung up, painful recollections that he hoped to never feel again after the car crash. His father was gone in another cloud of dust, though, and Deidara finally had the peace of mind to scrutinize his surroundings. He was in a small town of some sort, burned asunder from the air raids. German air raids. Soldiers and civilians alike rushed past him again and again in a never-ending flood of colors and the reality of being horrified past all rational thought. Some he knew, some were just faces in a crowd._

_A deep, rumbling noise reverberated somewhere close by, but when he tried to run, he couldn't. He swore and lurched forward only to fall in the blood-permeated mud that coated the streets like deathly pallor, surreal in its existence. A pair of strong hands picked him up and threw him in the middle of the street just as a charred building groaned and collapsed right over the spot he had been standing._

_Rising shakily to his feet, Deidara turned to thank his rescuer, but a line of fast-moving tanks met his eyes instead. There was a split second as the first tank met his impact and butted him rudely to the side, and he lay face-up in the mud, watching the ethereal silhouettes of the buildings burn with hellish, sulfuric flames. Screams and shots rang out all around him, and he closed his eyes, unwilling to move or breathe._

_Deidara opened his eyes and an earthy ceiling met his confused gaze. He rose to his feet, magically invigorated once more, and, to his further appeasement, the deformed doll was still clutched forlornly in his hand. Footsteps echoing unnaturally, he walked in circles around what he now recognized as a makeshift war hut, like the multitudes he had seen in marches before. A beautifully adorned oak and redwood table looked garish and out of place in the center of the granite floor, and for several minutes he allowed himself to be entranced by depictions of Norse goddesses seducing earthly warriors._

_A cough alerted him to an aberration in the shadows behind him, and he sidestepped until a shaft of light fell upon the small girl crouched there. He remembered the doll and held it out to her wordlessly, and she whimpered in fright at his sudden, coarse movements. _

_Nimm __du __es__. Take it._

_He shook the doll at her. She shook her head vehemently in response, racking her emaciated frame and sending her into a coughing fit, and she fell on her hands and knees, tiny drops of blood spattering the ground beneath her. Non! Non!_

_Disturbed at the emotional frenzies of this little French girl, Deidara walked to her and kneeled down, prying her hands from her face with little force applied and looked her directly in the eye, expecting her demeanor of a different kind of terror, one she must have experienced a thousand times before. Releasing one of her hands, he gently placed the doll in it and pressed her hands together around it, never once breaking eye contact. She seemed to perceive this new change and slowly smiled with recognition, stroking the doll's smoke-stained hair with unwashed hands._

_Deidara smiled back and put a hand on the girl's head, hoping to offer some kind of solace in the face of abject squalor this girl seemed to have no choice but to suffer in. He stood up and prepared to leave when a harsh shout stopped him in his tracks. Behind him, he could feel the girl freeze. What was it now?_

_Framed in the window was his father. Or was it Hitler? The men who came to drag him from his shop? For it seemed that every change in the light, the man's face seemed to change, becoming every symbol of his grief. Beyond the shelter, Deidara could see a burning meadow, and a giant hole filling rapidly with bodies. The flames fell upon the bodies and devoured them, waiting eagerly for the next group to be tossed in. Gasping for air in the stifling atmosphere, he was rendered immobile once more as the man, his father, walked brusquely through the doorframe and shoved Deidara aside with the butt of a rifle. _

_Eyes widening, Deidara reached behind him to find only cloth. The rifle his father—no, his commanding officer—held was his own! How could that be? His eyes darted to find the girl, and found her standing up, back against the wall, doll limp in her arms, a serene look on her face. She looked sympathetically back at Deidara, but to him it cast a heavy blow as if she had slapped him in the face. He was worthless. He could do nothing as he watched the man, now changing too rapidly to discern an identity, raise the gun to his shoulder._

_He could not stop the man from cocking the gun. Closing his eyes to wait for the inevitable, Deidara drew his arms under his body and hunched over. A sharp kick startled him out of the beginnings of his prayers, and he looked up to see the faceless man offering him the gun. He stood up slowly, took the gun, and situated it automatically on his shoulder. He had done this a thousand times before._

_Walking to the middle of the floor, he faced the girl, who had sunk to the floor again, staring at him with hurt and betrayal almost tangible. _

_He took careful aim and fired once._

_The girl cried out in pain and fell limp to the side, dead before she hit the ground. Deidara dropped the gun and stared at her body impassively. The man clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. Good work, he said cheerfully. I'll buy you a beer. He had done it this thousand times before. He walked out the door, leaving Deidara with a static gun and a rapidly chilling corpse._

_Deidara staggered to the little French girl's form and collapsed on his knees, tears already falling as he gently lifted her up in his lap, ignorant of the scarlet blood painting his uniform a haunting, dreadfully familiar color. He stroked her brown hair, the only part left of her with any life shining out from its roots. His forehead lowered against her own and he closed his eyes, offering up a finished prayer for her spirit._

_The doll lay forgotten in the dust near his foot, her porcelain head shattered into a thousand pieces._

Deidara groaned softly, moving his arm from his face and letting it drop to his side. Suddenly feeling stifled, he rolled silently out of bed, trying not to wake Sakura. Hissing at the chill of the floor, he walked briskly to the front flap, feet lightly scraping on the canvas below. He glanced toward the low hum behind him and felt gratitude towards Sakura for remembering to turn on the heater that night. After working on the plane all day, they had both been tired, but only she remembered to do those little things that mattered so much. Another good thing about women, he thought.

Some part of him wished she were awake, though. He remembered shooting that girl, egged on by his friends and hating himself for giving in. And for what? His pride? Deidara felt ashamed. He wanted to be comforted, but he didn't want that kind of comfort people gave when they felt obligated to do so; he wanted…something he didn't know how to say. There was simply no way to ask for it, really.

A pair of soft arms wrapped around his waist casually, hands playing with the zipper on his pants. He stiffened and froze.

"Hey."

He swallowed and held his breath, eyes widening. Was this really happening?

"What are you doing out of bed? You're still sick, you know."

Her voice was soft and lulling, a tone to it that Deidara had never heard from her before. Her hands ran down the front of his pants lightly, teasingly, and fell back to grab his hand, turning him around gently to face her, concern shining in her lucid emerald eyes. He looked down and nearly passed out when he realized she wasn't wearing any pants, only a very long shirt. What was she wearing under _that?_

"I don't think you're well, Sakura. Go to bed. Now."

She smirked and put her hands on his hips, running them teasingly up his chest to his face, bringing the hem of his shirt up with them. He wordlessly took the shirt from her and pulled it all the way off, too stunned to offer any resistance. Maybe he'd put that back on later.

She wrapped her arms back around him in a second and stood on her tiptoes to lick and kiss whatever she could reach of his chest, giving Deidara pleasant feelings in places that he felt extremely guilty about.

"I'm not drunk or anything," she whimpered against his skin, making him shiver. "You just looked so sad. So sad. I don't want you to be sad, Deidara." She released him, still pressed tightly against him, and gently took his hands once more, putting them just under the hem of the shirt she wore, and guided them over uninterrupted skin to her hips, bunching the fabric at her waist. Deidara blushed and vainly made an effort not to look down…much. She really _wasn't_ wearing anything under that shirt.

All of this was so sudden, he thought, as she closed her eyes and ran his hands slowly up her body. It was okay for _him_ to touch her, he just liked teasing her that way, but maybe he'd pushed her too far. This seemed off for some reason, not like Sakura at all. On the other hand, he had really only known her for several days. None of it really mattered at _all,_ though, when she brushed his palm up against her breast.

He tensed, torn between wanting to whisk her back into bed and pull the covers over her to hide her, and wanting to rip that shirt off—which was ruining a wonderful view of her breasts—and fuck her right there on the floor. It wasn't fair to her breasts, anyways, that no one would ever get to see them, he reasoned. Taking her shirt off was _definitely_ the right thing to do.

He swallowed, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into. Making up his mind for the last time, he reluctantly pulled his hand gently from her grasp. She gave in easily, opening her eyes to watch curiously, as he took the shirt at her waist and pulled the whole thing over her head before he could change his mind.

Initially, all he could do was stare. And he was fine with that for now, really. He could've probably stared all night if she hadn't taken control once more, huffing indignantly and unzipping his pants as he looked on rather apathetically.

He wasn't sure what to make of all this quite yet. Taking it slow wasn't all that bad; he could just see where things went, and—and—well, then what? Unfortunately, for him, Sakura had other plans. She yanked his pants down, dragging his army-grade boxers down with them—sending him into a futile sputtering fit—and snatched his hand. She dragged him over to the nearest cot, and then shoved him on. He felt more than saw her move around in the dark and strike a match, lighting a gas lamp on the bullet-shocked nightstand next to them, which cast a soft, romantic glow throughout the tent.

Wasting no time—that woman was certainly resourceful, if anything—Sakura went back over to the cot and perched on the edge, watching him with burning pools of emerald. Rather than feeling turned on, Deidara felt distinctly perturbed. Who _was_ this woman? What had they done with Sakura? Was she really holding back all this time? American women were _so_ bizarre.

He stiffened when she languidly drew a hand up from her side to rest a fingernail on the tip of his nose and then slowly brushed it over his skin. Deidara hummed nervously.

The fingernail continued traveling, across his torso and down his stomach, down, down…Deidara grabbed her hand, and Sakura looked at him questioningly.

"Is that really necessary? You know what, let's just stop now before this gets out of control. Obviously you got a hold of some beer or something, I don't know, but this just isn't right." He propped himself up on his elbows and prepared to roll over and hopefully smother the whole issue. Yeah, that would do it.

Deidara tried not to shudder for as long as he could. He was a man, after all, and men had their natural desires. It wasn't wrong for him to think what he was thinking, and it was okay for him to want to snatch her up and pin her under him so he could get rid of this annoying, pesky problem which was _not supposed to be there in the first place, dammit._

Deidara remained lost in his rationalizations as she scooted herself far enough into the bed to rise up on her hands and knees and straddle his stomach coyly. He slowly pulled himself out of his thoughts—he might as well go through with it, he mused, since they were already _naked_ and everything—and stared curiously up at her, fingers slowly starting up a soft caress across her hip bones.

She put her hands flat on his stomach and shifted, making him clench his eyes as tightly as he was clenching her hips. He moaned, suddenly concluding that this whole 'holding back' business could go right to hell. If she wanted to go and wrap her arms around him and strip and rub up on him and—_oh God what is she doing now_—then it _was_ her prerogative.

"…Shit."

And at this point, there really wasn't any more arguing to be done, was there?

"Fuck, Sakura," Deidara whispered, closing his eyes. "What are you _doing_ to me?"

She paused, and then leaned farther forward to lick the tip of his nose and giggle; he could feel her breasts flush against his chest and decided he would very much like them to stay there for the rest of the night, thank you.

He sighed.

She took this wonderful opportunity to open her mouth against his, snaking her tongue past his teeth and exploring every veritable nook and cranny she could find.

He made quick work of tightening his hands on her hips in order to flip them over in bed while Sakura thankfully submitted to the whole thing. Taking a deep breath, he rallied his stamina, throwing pregnancy cautions to the wind in favor of finding satisfaction as quick as he could.

The guilt was still there, yes, but for now, he could ignore it for this. For now, he felt wanted and appreciated. He felt happy, something he never expected to feel again after those men drafted him into service and all his hair got cut off by the inexperienced army barber. Just turn on the buzzer and let loose, Charlie. Completely unemotional and cold.

This, he thought as he pulled out and pushed back in, was something completely different. She was the first to come to _him,_ and even had to do a bit of convincing him to conclude that she, indeed, _wanted_ him. This was very sudden to Deidara. He had been convincing himself that he was _definitely_ going to marry this girl—while really only joking to himself half the time—and in the end she made all the advances, put _her_ emotions on the line, if only for the sake of his emotional acceptance.

This touched Deidara in more of a way than he would allow himself to convey. He was, after all, the proud product of the German Army. Soldiers were discouraged from displaying any emotions whatsoever in front of 'commoners.' Then again, he smiled as he looked down at Sakura's pleasure-stricken face, her sweat-slicked body writhing and wailing underneath him, because he didn't understand how someone could bear to act like that all the time. Especially when there was _this_ to look forward to.

A tension somewhere snapped, and they were falling and there _was_ no war, and there _was_ no little girl in the shelter in the mountains, there was only him and Sakura and a feeling so good it made him want to cry and punch the wall and moan into her hair all at once.

He collapsed onto her, gasping, and quickly rolled away, putting his hands over his face and rubbing the palms into his eyes.

She stilled for a moment, then peered curiously up at Deidara lovingly, slowly reaching her hands up to stroke his face, tracing the bridge of his nose and the depressions of his cheeks.

"Deidara," she murmured, and closed her eyes, savoring some unheard bliss.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she stared at him intensely. He blinked back, startled. Was she mad that he hadn't used a condom? Was something wrong with his—?

She grabbed his shoulders and began shaking them as roughly as she could from underneath him.

"Deidara!"

He grunted in surprise. If he was naked, then why did he feel cotton rubbing against his leg? More importantly, what the hell did she think she was—? Wait, how did she get on _top_ of him just then?

"_Deidara!"_

He gasped and started awake, finding himself back on the same old cot, fully clothed, with no gorgeous nurse glowing underneath him with the after-burn of attentive ministrations.

Sakura stopped shaking him then and promptly went into full medical mode.

"Well," she scolded the very confused man. "You had me worried."

Why was she wearing…clothing?

"You were tossing and turning and _moaning_ for almost twenty minutes, and I was trying to get you up! Oh, I should've treated you more—more _completely,_ I don't know, for that pneumonia. I _knew_ you had it! _Look_ at you! You're—you're all _red,_ and—and _panting!_ I hope you're not mad at me…"

Well, _that_ was a bit hard, considering the way she was looking at him and running her hands all over his chest, evoking a painful bout of nostalgia while she was at it. Deidara discreetly pulled the covers closer to his chest. If he could only get her to go back to sleep…he really needed some privacy now, or his masculinity would be utterly crushed.

The world outside was quiet in ironic opposition to Deidara's mind.

After assuring Sakura in, once again to his dismay, his same old broken English—he _really_ missed the communication he was able to share with her in his dream world—that he was fine, that his lungs didn't hurt, she had nodded to his every word and dropped back onto her cot, asleep in an instant.

Deidara couldn't really blame her. After all, he had woken her up at nearly three in the morning for a _dream._ As to what the dream entailed, he was minutely glad that she hadn't asked what _kind_ of dream it was. Be that as it may, he would never tell her what, exactly, he had dreamt, but he suspected that his blush and stammer would give everything away. A small blessing in his world of pain that she would never know.

She _really_ had no idea how this was effecting him. The Sakura in his dreams had been attentive to his every fluctuating emotion…he had _felt_ it when she purred her condolences to him. This Sakura was purely concerned with his medical issues, nothing else. She didn't notice the pleading, heartbroken look on his face when he realized that everything had been a dream, nor the downcast aura he emanated as he threw on some extra clothes and grabbed a map from the trunk at the foot of his bed when he escaped out into the snow. Some planning would clear his mind, he reasoned.

He shook his head roughly, blaming the dampness in his eyes on the crisp, French winter air. Damn the French. Damn the snow. Deidara stamped his foot down in frustration before wandering over to the log where he had eaten dinner hours before. Perhaps he would find some comfort there.

He opened the map, detailing the layout of the Franco-German area—he smiled lightly at his chance luck, now he wouldn't have to risk embarrassment going back inside to fetch a different map—and took out a pen, hoping to find some way of getting across the Siegfried Line and towards his hometown to regroup themselves.

Sticking the end of the pen in his mouth and chewing the end, he wondered exactly how difficult this would be. With the girl it would be easier, for as she slowed his plan of escape down heavily with her emotional baggage and constant whining, she possessed an important, un-ignorable quality about her: She was American. He sighed.

The Allies controlled nearly all of Germany at this point. A deserted German soldier would find no mercy there. If _she_ would vouch for him, though…

The pen scratched on the map ceaselessly until the dawn painted Deidara's face a golden yellow, reflecting the excitement gleaming in his eyes. So far, escape looked possible. He only had to focus on not making any advances towards the girl and he would make it out all right, would live to see more sunrises like this one, maybe…share them with someone.

Finding the girl attractive had not a single advantage for him, that much he was certain. Her interest ended with him where his sickness improved, and that was that. Still, the way she had acted at the plane site the other day… He closed his eyes and shook his head once more, clearing his throat with some measure of closure.

He would resolve things with her later.

* * *


	5. Planning Ahead

**A/N:** Snarglefargen.

Sorry about the wait. Christmas and finals and skiing and all that. But it's nice and long, so there. I wrote the whole thing in less than a week. Go me!

BUT. I come bearing gifts. If you want some great info on the Lockheed P-38 and want to watch the videos that make me love Osprey even more, go to YouTube and _search_ that ho.

Good Videos: "P-38 Tribute" by _funtimesteve2,_ "P-38 training video (in color)" by _XP55,_ and "DOGFIGHTS, P38 LIGHTNING VS ME 109" by _colacas._ You'll be seeing a lot of stuff in this fic influenced by these videos as far as technical things, so watch them and be awed.

And, for your convenience, I am going to tell you what _Obergruppenführer_ is. It's a high rank in the SA. Remember that.

* * *

Two days later and there was no sign of the Axis powers. Not one to lag behind, though, Deidara suggested they begin heavy work on the plane immediately, as it was their only way to escape alive.

Sakura, not one to be slothful, insisted on helping Deidara in every way possible, even if it was only to fetch things and make him food while he worked on the plane, stopping every now and then to give him little physicals. As she soon found out, though, there was no glory in being a gofer.

She shrieked and ducked under the wing of the plane to crouch there, sullen, narrowly missing yet another finely packed ball of snow. Here she was trying to help the man, and _this_ was her acquittal? The bastard.

Still, Sakura thought, he was only a man all the same, and she did get a lot of treatment like this from the men on quiet days, when there were no enemies to fight, no last-minute summons to—well, that was neither here nor there. She didn't know _how_ she knew, exactly, but she didn't think her regiment was going to make it out of this fight.

On the other hand, at least there was a small beacon of hope for _her,_ though it wasn't exactly according to plan. Deidara woke her up shortly after sunrise—no sign in his demeanor of his feverish hallucinations of the night before—and thrust the map he filched into her face as she yawned and gathered her wits about her.

Blinking the nasty, unnamed crusty things out of her eyes, she looked down at the diagram of the French and German military terrain and zones, squinting at the lines and symbols Deidara had drawn and his neat, pristine rows of immaculate German.

Feeling quite bitchy at being woken up at that ungodly hour, she blinked up at him, emotionless, trying very hard to figure out what the hell it was she was supposed to be looking at, or _saying_ to him, for that matter. Nice penmanship you have there, Skippy? You draw very straight lines? Stop digging in people's stuff around here or I will drown you in the river? Let's just screw each other and get the whole mutual attraction thing out of the way before it even happens?

Lucky for her exhausted brain, Sakura didn't need to say anything at all—_or_ evaluate that last, horrid image that crossed her mind's eye. Deidara plopped down on the covers next to her and explained in his very best English that they were going to fix the plane and gloriously fly away from the forest, and do some other stuff that Sakura couldn't remember.

After realizing that escape was possible for her and Deidara both as of those two days ago, she perceived that something would change, an atmosphere would settle over the near-deserted camp, one of hard determination and the will to survive.

Well, so much for _that._ Her supposed savior apparently felt perfectly content to cast lecherous glances her way as he straddled the left tail section of the plane, at ease with tossing deadly accurate balls of slush her way every time she turned around to cater to his every desire. The wrench, _Frau!_ Get me the damn wrench! No, that is the wrong one, _ja!_ Turn around and get me this time the right one!

And then came the snowball as soon as she turned around. Where did he even _get_ all that snow, anyway? Oh, right. The entire forest was _swamped_ with the stuff.

She sighed and closed her eyes, placing hands and feet firmly into the snow, and raised her backside up, attempting to get up without slipping and falling again. Then maybe she would retain _some_ of her precious dignity.

A second snowball hit her square in her raised backside, causing her to lose her balance once again and topple forward into the snow. Gritting her teeth at Deidara's uproarious laughter coupled with the metallic emissions of his damn wrench, she refused to react. Ignore, ignore, _ignore_ it, and then maybe he'd stop.

Maybe.

"_Frau,"_ he singsonged. "I need another wrench! Move quicker! My hair is turning gray!"

He laughed again, and Sakura gave up all hopes of maturity right then and there. Revenge refused to wait. She grabbed the other wrench and, making sure he returned his attentions (for the moment) to the P-38 once more, a handful of snow. This was a long time coming, anyway. He deserved it.

He accepted the wrench without comment, and Sakura smiled, feeling giddy that he had absolutely no idea what was coming to him. She heaved herself up on the tail section behind him with relative ease and balanced there on her knees, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence.

She was certain he knew she was there, and was just ignoring her, for he was silent in the span of the next ten minutes. When Deidara was quiet, she knew something was up. Eventually, he sighed gustily and turned around to look at her, blinking in surprise at just how close she was, nearly pressed right up against him, and grinning with hidden malice at that.

For once, he seemed at a total loss of words. A small rush of adrenaline pulsed through her body, giving her courage for what came next. Slowly, she positioned herself directly behind him, chest flush with his back, and brought her hands around to rest them against the front of his pants, teasing the material with a fingertip for effect. She could feel his heart flutter, and almost felt bad for him.

When she unzipped his pants and held the flaps open, he stopped breathing entirely. Feeling the water run down her hands, Sakura decided it was now or never. Thrusting the half-melted ball of slush down his pants, she rolled off the plane and landed ungracefully on the tarp-covered ground, where a cursing Deidara joined her seconds later.

She was _really_ glad she didn't know German that well.

He liberated all the snow from his pants and zipped them back up, still swearing (she assumed) terribly. Sakura giggled lightly. It was almost like a game, and she felt giddy for some reason, wanted to push her limits.

The minute he propped himself up on his elbows and let his head drop back into the snow, she crawled over to look him in the face, where he gave her an upside-down glare.

"No fair," he mumbled. She smiled and put her lips to his forehead; Deidara closed his eyes and allowed her without a complaint. "What are you doing?"

Sakura breathed out slowly, relishing in the human contact. Was this what prisoners felt like, led to their execution? Perhaps they even appreciated that small connection with the one who led them to their death, after being alone in the dark for so many days. And she _did_ feel alone.

"Checking your temperature. My hands and arms are cold from the snow. This is another way, but it's not used very much."

"I also think that."

She smiled again, this time against his skin. "I feel like we're the last people on earth. Listen." They stilled, the silence reaching out into the repressing nothingness. Not even a bird or a fox, only the endless white. "It's so quiet. Not even gunshots. Maybe we're the only ones left."

He grinned and flipped himself over so he was facing her upright.

"Then we should start working to save the human race. Which cot, baby?"

There was nothing she could do but stare for several seconds before giving his chest a sharp thump with his fist. The _nerve_ of that man!

"What," she gasped, "do you think you're _doing?"_ She sputtered and he just kept grinning in that infuriating way of his, a hand inching towards her sneakily. "And where the hell did you learn to talk like that? _Casablanca?_ You sure have a lot of nerve, don't you?"

She ended her tirade with a great heave of breath and prepared to storm off when Deidara's hand caught her arm and yanked her backwards.

She fell indignantly on his chest and squirmed around mightily trying to free herself, but he released her arm only to put both hands on her waist, trapping her upper torso while her legs flailed about in the snow beyond the tarp. He laughed again, and Sakura tried to reach her mouth somewhere, _anywhere,_ to give him a sound bite.

His hands tightened. "No biting. That's not how I _like_ it." Sakura choked. Where did he _learn_ all of this crap? "At the barracks, sometimes we watch the stupid American movies, _ja?_ The SS Officers, they like the Western movies, okay. With the boycows and the banging Indians. Not this _Casablanca." _He paused for a moment, musing.

"They did not like the way that—how do you say it?—the Nazi was shown badly in this movie, yes. So no watching." He closed his eyes and sighed. "No Humphrey Bogart for us."

_Humphrey Bogart,_ Sakura wondered, quieted. _How does he know_ him?

Deidara continued. "We hear about that man, how good he was. I did not go to see for myself because of the banning. So when I leave this country, the first thing I will do is go find a place to see that movie, yes."

For a long while, all they did was lay there in the snow over the tarp, Sakura staring wistfully into his face while he stared up at the desolate sky, so covered with clouds that not a speck of blue poked through its cover.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid," Sakura finally whispered. An Osprey _yewk_ed from somewhere above the treeline and landed on a high branch, peering down at the pair curiously.

"What?" Deidara whispered back.

"_Casablanca._ Bogart."

"…Okay."

The Osprey continued to look down at the pair, captivating them into a relative peace with a lopsided, one-eyed gaze. Sakura had never seen one before, despite their large population, and had never seen anything so startling before. The pure white of its underbelly sharply contrasted with glossy brown top-feathers, and its piercing amber eyes seemed to glance right through her.

This large bird seemed taken as well by the two strange interlopers on her forest floor, and glided halfway down the tree to arch its neck out and get in for a closer study. The three regarded one another with something not less than wonder for a long while, and finally the Osprey had landed on the ground ten feet away from the tarp, wary despite her unsatisfied concern.

Deidara and Sakura remained frozen, disregarding everything except to keep the raptor from starting and flying away. Chilling wind swept through the forest, and the bird ruffled up her feathers, chortling indignantly. She flapped her wings and tiptoed across the top layer of snow, brushing so close to the awestruck pair that they could feel the buffets spiraling from her form.

Sakura wrinkled her forehead in bewilderment. "What is it—?"

The Osprey turned back to face the two, clutching a hoard of dried fish leather from Sakura's tin box in her beak before giving a final _cheep-cheep_ and flying off to the southern horizon. Sakura gasped and scrambled to a crouch before Deidara throttled her waist to bring her back to her former position: sprawled undignified on the man's chest. She began to squirm again as she watched the thieving bird fly off with the last of the fish.

"Do not chase it," Deidara warned. "It was starving. We can break the ice and find more fish to dry later, okay."

Sakura gave up once more—he had a _very_ strong grip, darn him—and beat her head against his torso twice before laying her forehead down between his pectorals in defeat. Again.

"How do _you_ know it was starving, nature man?" She huffed into his shirt. Deidara gave her a wry look that she felt in his tone.

"It was too thin, yes. I have seen them many times, but never now. It should be in Africa with its family for the wintertime." He looked out at the rapidly ascending bird. _"Das Osprey_ does not dwell in _Deutschland_ but for the warm season, _ja?_ As I would like to."

Sakura blinked, tickling her eyelashes against his heavy coat. "Where _is_ your family?"

Silence.

Her heart jumped, and she feared for a moment that she had offended him. Perhaps they were dead. The war had broken and split many families in Europe. But Deidara had only laid back against the tarp again and closed his eyes. _Maybe he just didn't hear me. I'll ask him later._

All of a sudden, he stood up—Sakura slid down his front to sit sprawled on the rough covering—and walked back over to the plane, hopping deftly on the wing and strolling its length to the cockpit.

He put his hands in the coat pockets and stared inside before looking back at Sakura, now picking herself off the ground and brushing stray snow aside, and motioning for her to come.

The wings were a bit dangerous to maneuver on, covered with snow from the branches above, but a hop, a skip, and a suspenseful jump got her shivering to Deidara's side, clutching his clothes for dear life.

"What is it?"

Deidara said nothing and leaned over to open the cockpit windows, top and side. "The past two days I have made adjustments to the Lockheed." He paused to step inside and sit down, looking back up at Sakura, who still stood on the wing with her hands clenching the rim of the open window. "I put the seat a more back and took things out from behind it that can be saved."

He gestured to the space in front of him, the controls and upper windows. "There is not much room, _ja,_ but now that I have finished this part I remember that I want you to help me check to make sure it is okay. For enough room." He clenched the sides of the cockpit seat and waited.

His vapid stare unnerved Sakura for a beat before she realized that he wanted her to climb in. _But why the look? Is he testing me? Doesn't think I'll climb in?_ She took a deep breath and gingerly stooped down, sliding her right leg in sideways through the opposing side of the open cockpit, slipping it past his own right leg.

Quite innocently, he put his hand on her thigh and she stiffened for a moment before he reached out his other hand to help her maneuver the rest of the way inside. As soon as she was in, his hands went back to the seat edges again.

_Oh, so he was just helping me in. I think… _Trying to be as still as possible, difficult when she automatically wanted to squirm around to find a comfortable position, Sakura waited on bated breath. Squeaking leather alerted her to Deidara's hands, unclenching from the seams in the chair again.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw his arms raise up to completely trap her in, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe, feeling almost claustrophobic. He reached further and grabbed hold of the P-38's main control, moving it this way and that, probably testing the mobility level coupled with the disability of having a smallish 17-year-old in one's lap.

_Everything seems like it's in slow-motion,_ Sakura thought, grumbling to herself. _Wish he'd hurry up. I'm getting really anxious here. _

Wing flaps he tested by reaching somewhere to a switch on the right, tail flaps by another switch _somewhere,_ the—_Wait, what's he doing now? This is so confusing! Too many stupid buttons!_ Each time he tested every different button, he rose out of the seat a bit to look either side to side or behind him until he fell back into the seat with a huff, satisfied at his completed intentions, arms placed quite accidentally around Sakura's waist.

Consequently, his hands rested dangerously close to a place they had no business being at this point in their coexistence together. They seemed to simultaneously recognize the precariousness of the situation, and awkwardness fell into the cockpit like a heavy fog. A freezing gust blew into the confined space and Sakura jerked hard, a shiver hitting her unexpectedly.

One of Deidara's arms left her waistband to reach up and slam the cockpit closed, which retained the plane's icy atmosphere, but thankfully eradicated the malevolent northern winds. His hand then went right back to her waist where it was before. _Crap._

Shifting minutely behind her, she almost knew what was coming next. His forehead came down to rest on the beginning of her spine through her coat and stayed there. Sakura stayed put. "There is one more thing to test," he murmured, barely even speaking aloud.

"What is it?" Could he hear the shaking in her voice? He probably felt the tremors in her body.

"The space behind the chair. I must see if there is enough room for small things for an emergency." He went silent again, too fast. Sakura bit her lip. He was acting exceedingly peculiar, and not in a manner which she wanted to explore.

She took a deep breath. "What will you have me do, then? Do you want me to get out and get a hammer or some—?"

"Take off your coat."

Something seized up in Sakura's chest and she began to tremble. She knew what he was trying to do; didn't he see that? Didn't he _care?_

Deidara, likely more than aware of her paralysis, reached up for the zipper at her throat, and pulled it slowly down, face buried in the side of her neck, breaths calm and even. He separated the halves of her coat and moved to slip the coat arms off for her, slip the entire coat from her body and move it behind him.

Breathing she regarded as unimportant when she heard the sounds of his own zipper being pulled, the American uniform being discarded behind the seat as well. His hands came back around to her lap once more, his face pressed into her back again. She could feel a slight hitch to his breathing now, barely noticeable, but there.

All too soon she felt Deidara's hands slowly run up her torso, touching briefly across her breasts before he slid them back down again, past her thighs to her knees where he caressed them softly. Sakura gasped silently, trying hard not to cry, the sick feeling in her stomach compressing and releasing all at once, creating a tangible fear in her throat.

"Look at me," he rasped. She flinched at the sound of his voice, something present in its tone that had never been there before. Whatever it was, it sent chills throughout her whole body; they rested somewhere just below her waist against her will.

She opened her mouth to refuse, only to clench it shut again in an effort not to cry out in surprise. His hands definitely didn't have any business going _there,_ not now.

He gripped her waist and roughly forced her to turn around to face him, straddling his thighs precariously, but she quickly slid down to his lap from lack of balance. Quite incidentally, she also threw out her hands to grab his shoulders, the nearest support available that wasn't made of metal and freezing cold besides.

Blue met green for one electric moment before he slid fingers through the hair on the back of her head and drew her forward slowly. Her eyelids shut slowly as she braced for the inevitable.

But as his lips met her own, moving in agonizingly slow torture, God would decide to deal her a rather different hand: a shotgun fired inches from the plane's left wing, shocking them both to freeze against one another.

Harsh German commands issued from outside and Sakura released the tears she'd been holding in but didn't make a sound, the dreading look on Deidara's face alerting her to the terrible danger at hand. Moving as little as possible, he quickly managed to reverse positions with her and pushed her down as far as she could fit under the controls, grabbing his stolen coat and throwing hers over her nearly prone form.

"Don't move," he whispered. "I will do this alone."

The cockpit opened and Deidara climbed out to a chorus of more German; he answered back with the same, and the last of him disappeared from Sakura's line of view along with most of her hope.

A childish motion, she pulled the coat over her head and crouched stock-still where he had instructed her to stay, muscles too tense to allow even the tiniest of trembles.

She prayed.

* * *

Luck never _was_ a lady when it came to seducing men in fateful times, but for once she seemed to play in Deidara's favor.

The minute his feet hit the tarp as he went over their chances of living, a loud chorus of whoops and pleased greetings met his ears, and he looked around, bemused, at the faces of the men stationed from his own base camp. For a while, all he could do was stare.

Silver hair caught his eye, and a large form barreled into him at high speed, dropping a gun to capture him in a headlock and noogie the hell out of his shoulder-length mess of blond tangles.

"Deidara, you girly little _shit,"_ the man jovially shouted in his ear. "Where the fuck have you _been,_ man? Or, should I say, ma'am? Looks like you've been neglecting fucking protocol with your damn hair again. I can't believe you just up and left me all _alone!_ I thought what we had was special!" He released Deidara to clutch his chest in mock consternation and stagger around dejectedly. Deidara smirked and rolled his eyes. How could he have forgotten about _these_ nutjobs?

"Hey, Hidan. I've been…here, I guess." He shrugged.

"Doing what? Wasting your time, no doubt," a low voice rumbled. Deidara inclined his head and peered over Hidan's shoulders.

"Hello, Colonel Kakuzu," he saluted the weathered soldier cautiously. That man was hell on earth with a Maschinengewehr 08, and even the higher ups avoided ruffling his patched-up fur the wrong way.

"Actually, I was sent out to scout ahead and found this camp, yeah. I sniped what officials were here and managed to find some interesting information." _Oh, God in heaven. I hope Sakura has all the important papers on her. This'll be hard as fuck to pull off._

Kakuzu's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Apparently their nurse had no qualms about giving out the goods. And I mean that in more than _one_ way."

The combined laughter and backslapping gave Deidara some hope, though he felt minutely bad about making Sakura an example like that.

"Come on, then, shitface," Hidan barked, retrieving his gun from the tarp. "Let's head back to the camp for some beer and some naptime, and then Little Birdie here'll maybe tell us the whole story." The men cheered loudly with the exception of Kakuzu, who stared at the Lockheed relentlessly. Deidara slipped his coat back on and walked over to the man while the rest of the troops filed out of the clearing towards the tent at Hidan's barking instructions.

"Nice, isn't it? The American Air Force's favorite weapon, right here for me to find." He looked over at the patchwork soldier, who continued to look at the plane, seemingly concerned with the cockpit area.

"Sir?" _Surely he doesn't know…_

"Is your whore of a nurse learning to fly, or did you have her hide there from us? What are you trying to do, make a fool of me? Does an ambush wait at the camp?" Kakuzu's hand tightened around his gun, fingers twitching in anticipation.

Blanching, Deidara put placating hands before him. "Oh, no, Colonel. Nothing like _that,_ yeah. I heard shots and thought the Americans might have discovered this. If something happened to me, I didn't want anything bad to happen to the girl. She helped me, and therefore the Reich itself, you know."

The older man snorted and relaxed his weapon. "Don't play that with me. You never did support the government. Why now? Why _this?_ Hmm? Going to tell us it's your little secret mission?" Deidara fell silent, heart beating like a drum. "Tell you what, boy. Call out your little woman and I'll decide for myself what _I_ want to be done with her. She'd make a lovely bed-warmer. Although…" He paused, thinking.

"Listen," he finally continued. "I hate the blasted man just as much as you, but, at this point, resisting him would mean death at the hands of his precious SS." He spat on the ground. "For a price, I may be able to work out a situation for you and the girl to get away, buy you some time to fix the plane a little more and fly away with her. Then you two can get married in a bombed-up Paris and have a bouncing little baby named Henri. Does that sound good to you, you little rat? I ought to have you detained just for _thinking_ what you are."

Lips pursed, Deidara waited.

"But maybe I _won't,_ just for old time's sake. Little shit. Hey," he called out to the P-38 in British English, "Get out of there, you."

Pink hair breached the windowsill from the inside and a pair of terrified eyes peered out at the motley soldiers standing there, one pale and nervous, the other weathered and impatient. Sakura glanced at Deidara for some sort of confirmation, and he turned to Kakuzu, who jerked his head towards the plane.

_Great. First plan fails before it even happens, and now we're at the mercy of _this_ guy,_ Deidara brooded bitterly as he opened the hatches for Sakura and pulled her out. Kakuzu eyeballed her as the two passed him, a sneer on his face.

"Skimpy little thing, isn't she? Your taste isn't the best, kid. And that _hair._ Fucking _hell."_ He waved towards the camp as he took out a pack of cigarettes with his other hand. He lit one and stuck it in his mouth where it hung limply. "You get on ahead. I'm not letting either of you out of my sight."

Deidara spoke softly to Sakura, trying to tell her as much as possible with little words. He hoped that she got the gist of it, and at least she understood that for now they were out of danger. He assumed, anyways. Kakuzu was a very cunning man with enough gall to survive both the First World War and the Nazi Regime's takeover, and was certainly more intelligent than Deidara. This deal that he talked about…what did it mean?

"If you're wondering what exactly I want you to do," Kakuzu drawled as he herded them back along the forest trail, "then I'll tell you part of it here. I'll tell you more after the men are asleep." He took a long drag from the cigarette, and Deidara caught Sakura wrinkling her nose in his field vision.

"Keep in mind that this won't be a choice for you, and you're lucky that I trust you enough to let you in on it. If you refuse or fail to follow orders correctly, I will report you to the Office as dead and line the both of you up against a wall myself. Huh." As if for extra measure, his hand visibly passed over the stock of his gun. Fear glimmered in Sakura's eyes. While she definitely had no idea what was exchanging between the two men—Kakuzu insisted on speaking in his native tongue—Deidara could sympathize with her intuition.

Jaw clenched, Deidara looked back and muttered, "So what is it we do, sir?"

Kakuzu smiled wickedly. "Nice to see you're cooperating for once, you little ingrate. You see, I've been involved with the Nazi resistance and the Allies for some time now, and I know you're more than glad to pay them back for what they did to you, and to them. Oh, yes, I know about that, yes I do. I admire your guts, though, as you were obviously prepared to launch a full-scale betrayal of your Lord and Leader himself by trying to leave with the American."

He paused to let his words sink in, and Deidara fisted his hands at his sides. How did the bastard _know_ all this stuff?

"Well," the Colonel continued, "there's a letter I want to be given to one of the officers at a Concentration Camp to the far west, Auschwitz-Birkenau. It's very far from here, to the southern end of what was Poland, but the letter is very important. The man you will give it to, Mendelssohn, will pass on the letter to the Allies and, in turn, make sure you are taken to a safe place."

Then he repeated the same to Sakura in his articulate British.

She frowned at him. "Why are you risking telling us this? The SS could hunt you down if that is true."

Another drag on the cigarette. _"Das geht dich einen Scheißdreck an, __blöde__ amerikanische Fotze,"_ he chided her in German, and Deidara turned away. Kakuzu continued to speak to her in English. "You nagging little wretch. It's not even any of your fucking business." Sakura had the grace to blush, and he grinned at her snidely.

"I suppose I'll humor you for now, anyways. Who knows? You could be dead in a week, shot down by anti-aircraft. Moving on, then. Most of the army is tired of this war. Hitler's initial motives are blurred. Now all there exists is his hatred and the passion of a lunatic.

"He was never a brilliant man to begin with, little girl. He only has the uncanny ability to capture a crowd with his voice, stop them in their tracks for the span of an hour while he entrances them with his lies. I, too, was captured by his resonance."

Sakura slowed her steps and looked into his odd green eyes. "So what made you come to your senses, then, if that's what happened?"

The cigarette flew into the snow, its heat making a tiny depression of transient water.

"Treblinka."

Invariably intrigued, she drew breath for another question, silenced by Deidara's hand on her wrist. He gazed at her with understanding, and silently promised to explain later. The truth was, Treblinka held a special kind of significance for Deidara also, a significance he prayed everyday to forget and never did.

Raucous yelling alerted them they were nearing the camp, and several uniformed German soldiers swamped the trio upon their entering the campground. Deidara could see that they had already invaded the main tent where he and Sakura stayed, and hoped that they hadn't screwed around with his things in there. Well, they weren't _exactly_ his, but they would still be screwed.

Kakuzu shouted out orders left and right for about ten minutes, and eventually had everyone in an amorphous circle-like mass around a bonfire. One of the men expressed concern with the smoke, but the colonel scoffed at this. The whole Ardennes would be on fire in a week, he said. What's a little bonfire going to signal anyone?

Food was in order, and Deidara whispered to Sakura about the issue. He knew personally the German offensive was low on food, and anything they could give the weary and cranky soldiers would be just as good. They had more to worry about than bringing a whole refrigerator's worth of food on the plane.

The men ate several days' worth of cans and potatoes, and Sakura's shoulders ached from carrying bucket after bucket of water to the pot she placed in a smaller fire. A healthy round of alcohol then sent them—Deidara nearly included—into a swaying, groping haze. When she finally retired to the tent, Sakura had kneed approximately twelve drunken, horny men, Hidan being the most persistent of the lot.

Deidara rolled his eyes. Only a barrelful of liquor would make a righteous German attracted to an American girl. All the same, he remained on guard to make sure the teasing didn't escalate to a more touchy level.

Finally, she ducked into the tent, sending Deidara and Kakuzu a backwards glance. The former immediately got up and walked briskly towards the tent flap, but the latter got up slowly, glancing about him suspiciously. Snores from the ground provoked an audible sigh and a disgusted scrunching in his face, but the colonel digressed and followed Deidara.

Inside the tent, Sakura stood up from lighting a lamp and scrutinized the two men, folding her arms in front of her modestly. She bit her lip, most likely unsure of what to do. Deidara was somewhat pleased to see that she had obtained some wariness for the old soldier; her tenseness was evident in every fiber of her being. Better freaked out now than after an unfortunate future episode to think about.

Kakuzu moved towards the light and sat down on the cot next to it with his elbows on his knees, a relaxed posture grossly contradicting the situation. He pointed a finger at Sakura and then motioned to the floor in front of his feet, and she scurried to it and situated herself there against the opposite cot with her knees drawn up, shooting frightened glances at the colonel while staring at Deidara nervously. Deidara followed suit, sitting a little calmer and straighter; he still needed to keep _some_ appearance in front of his superior.

"Well," Kakuzu rumbled to Deidara. "I suppose you'll have to translate for the little girl, there. Say what you want to her; I don't care either way what happens to her, but keep in mind who she is."

"I will, sir." Deidara glanced at Sakura. Her eyes were glued on Kakuzu.

"Good, then. That means this will take twice as long, but I suppose that doesn't matter in the long run." He took out another cigarette and lit it, smiling. "Beauty, isn't it? That's one of the perks of being a senior officer. You still have shit like this while every other simpleton is on his knees with nicotine headaches. So, you'll deliver the letter, which I have in a certain place. It will be given to you in due time. Mendelssohn is one of the senior officers at Auschwitz, which means that you'll have no trouble finding him once you get there. No one will question your arrival."

Blue eyes met lurid green.

"I'm giving you a field promotion. To _Obergruppenführer."_

Deidara's eyes widened. _"Ober—_how can you do that? Sir."

A cigarette end flew through the air and landed near Sakura's foot, where she glared at it reproachfully.

"I can't. Technically, I don't have the authority. But as a matter of fact, we came across a dying German of the same rank, and when he kicked it I took his uniform with me. Useful. As for me, however, the point remains that I am too well known to ever pull off an impersonation of the sort. You, however, are unpopular enough to the point where I think you could pull off being a _Sturmabteilung_ Officer without detection. Mendelssohn will know why you came the moment you mention my letter, so you have nothing to worry about there."

He gave the cigarette another drag. "Well, go on. Explain that to your little hooker, there."

While Deidara took the time to rapidly explain—as best as he could, anyway—Kakuzu got up to peer outside, looking right and left before coming back in again and producing a map from the pocket on his jacket liner. He opened the map, sat on the floor next to the two, and unfolded it, waiting in an uncharacteristically patient manner for Deidara to finish his quick diagnostic to a doe-eyed Sakura.

The rest of the night passed in a frostbitten blur. Kakuzu pinpointed several places on the map where they could stop and refuel and get food, and even went as far as letting them in on secret storages for the Nazi-supportive military officers and where this and that clump of trees or abandoned factory was located to hide the Lockheed in an emergency.

Mendelssohn's photo presented to Deidara gave the blond no inkling of who the man truly was; he looked like any other ordinary man, with medium-colored hair and light eyes. As far as could be assumed, the man didn't look any older than forty years old.

Moreover, as far as Sakura's opinions—meek as they were with Kakuzu present—any influence from the girl in the conversation ceased after two in the morning; a pressure on his shoulder and a leering stare from the colonel alerted him to her exhausted state.

Pardoned by the old soldier, Deidara stood—picking Sakura up carefully—and deposited her drowsy form on the cot directly behind where he sat, and she immediately fell asleep. Later, after Kakuzu went to bed—holding a knife and gun and threatening a bloody fate to anyone and everyone who dared to pass out of the tent without express permission—Deidara sighed alone, too weary even to try to comprehend the quandary he and the girl had got into.

Sleep wouldn't come and sex was out of the question, so there was nothing else to do, in his humble opinion, than to sit on the edge of Sakura's bed and make sure that no groping hands made their way to her listless silhouette under the cover of night. None at all, but maybe it would be all right if he alone ran a hand through her hair on several occasions, skimmed his lips over her cheek just a few times, and wished just once that he could lie beside her through the endless night, his hope, his _V__ö__gelchen._

* * *


	6. Ich Brech' die Herze

**A/N:** Yea, Bo.

Clabber Girl is sacred. Everyone should use it. USE IT.

One more thing. I KNOW IT IS SO LATE, I AM SO, SO SORRY! School would absolutely not let me write hardly _anything._ January has to be the busiest month of the year so far. I almost died. But enough excuses. On with the show.

* * *

"Hmmm…I like it!"

Deidara silently groaned. Not only did he have to degrade his morale by putting on the skin of his most hated enemy, but the girl just _had_ to go and support the outfit. Whose side was she on, anyway?

"Button up the damn shirt all the way. And tuck the shirt _in._ You look like riffraff."

Oh, yeah. _His_ side. With his stupid little cigarette and his stupid little colonel outfit that the stupid—

"Quit making faces at me, you little shit! Don't think I don't see that."

Sakura giggled. She obviously had no idea what Kakuzu was even saying. Or maybe she secretly _did,_ and she was only… God, he needed to get laid. Even if it meant picking a girl up with the poofy pants Nazis were wont to wear on formal military occasions.

…Did _Sakura_ like poofy pants?

_Damn alcohol._

Drunk before noon, and now Sakura was walking off to the clearing with the rest of his German "buddies." _Well, at least German opinion on Americans is low. I'd better get the hell out of this dumb suit before someone else sees._

He undid snaps, buttons, and zippers in record time, and had his German-American hybrid uniform back on, the comfort finally returning to his body. Those boots were so _tight._

"Come on, Deidara!" her little voice called from outside. "Tell me what they're saying!"

The offending boots were placed in neat alignment beside the bed as he calmly walked outside and around to the other side of the tent, where he promptly bent over to throw up. A soft hand rubbed soothingly on his back, and he slowly rolled his eyes to the side in attempt to look the girl in the face. What was her name again?

"Oh, Deidara," she cooed. "I _told_ you, you shouldn't be drinking _anything_ alcoholic right now. When you drink alcohol it lowers your body temperature, and that's the _last_ thing you need. That _we_ need." She paused, fastened her arms around his waist, and began hauling him over to the campfire that the men had started up again.

"We need you to be in good shape to fly, you know," she continued primly, then paused a second time. "The Colonel…he wants us to fly out. Tonight. He said the less time we wait the better."

Suddenly all the alcohol in the world couldn't have made Deidara feel any less sober as he did right at that moment.

"Now? Tonight?" He stumbled over the thick metal cord holding the tent corner down and nearly sent both of them into a drift. "But—I do not understand. Tonight?"

Sakura sighed mournfully. "Yes, Deidara. We have to go tonight. Look, he already ordered the Germans to pull the plane out of the woods. He did it this morning." She pointed to the plane sneaking into their field of vision as they ambled back around the tent. "And by the fire are a few cans of high-protein foods, some water canteens, and other stuff. I think there's even a couple blankets."

Released from her hold when they approached the fire—all men in the camp stopping to stare at them, as usual—all he could do for a few minutes was sit and stare at the plane and the supplies like an idiot, barely registering when Sakura walked back into the tent, probably to change.

"So…what about her?"

Deidara blinked and turned around. "Huh?"

A dozen pairs of eyes watched his own expectantly from their places on the logs around the fire. Why did they want to know about Sakura? Right, that was her name.

"The girl, shitbag," Hidan drawled as he jerked his head towards the tent. "Tell us about the damn girl. She might be American, but I say, she has quite a package."

A sigh escaped from Deidara's weary lips and he closed his eyes, not quite ready to talk about the situation. Maybe he'd be ready if they came back in five hundred years or so, something like that.

"Eh, I dunno. She's all right, I guess."

Quite expectedly, a cry of teasing dismay resounded around the fire, the sound catching the attention of a few more Germans who had been prowling around the plane, poking the metal body with guns and gloved hands.

"Come on, come on!"

"Does she scream when you fuck her?"

"How big are her tits?"

"Did she give in easy or did you have to fight with her?"

"Does she have pink hair on her pussy?"

"Was she a virgin?"

"Don't tell me you got her pregnant or any shit like that, 'cause that's not cool, man."

"I know, what's up with bitches these days? It's their fault for having the kid, and then they want you to have to get off your ass and take care of—"

"All right, all _right!"_ Deidara finally shouted. "But I'm gonna give you the bear minimum, okay? I'm kinda pissed right now, yeah," he ended on a mumble.

"Oh, about the 'fly away into the open skies with the lady' shit? That's sucks, man. It's fucked up." Hidan nodded sympathetically while Deidara stiffened slightly, wondering what exactly Kakuzu had told them.

"So Colonel told you about it, huh?"

"Yeah," the silver-haired man yawned, "he did. He told us all about the mission you had to take that girl to a concentration camp somewhere 'cause she's wanted for…some fucked-up thing, I dunno. And that she won't know until too late and all that dramatic shit."

"Oh." _So the Colonel didn't tell them everything…interesting._

"So…what was it like fucking the bitch, anyway?"

Fifteen eager faces leaned in towards the hassled blond expectantly.

"I wanted to, she didn't, we found middle ground, we fucked for a while and she screamed a lot. Happy?"

Fifteen crestfallen faces stared at Deidara wistfully.

"That's it?"

"You suck."

"Does she fucking _have_ pink hair on her pussy?"

"Hey, it's none of your business anyway," Deidara stuttered. "Plus it wasn't that exciting, anyway. Honest. Nothing really—"

"That's enough of that, all of you," Kakuzu thundered from over by the plane. "And whoever pissed in the snow right here is subject to any punishment I choose to receive." The Colonel pointed straight down to the snow under his feet, stained a light yellow. "You all know the importance of preventing the spread of malicious disease. And the bastard who chose to regard that owes me a new pair of shoes. As none of you will fess up, however, every one of you will suffer a six-hour lecture of the importance of cleanliness."

Deidara grimaced with sympathy, remembering for himself those stupid health meetings. I mean sure, disease was bad and stuff, but did you really have to go to the trouble of burying your shit every time you had to go? Honestly.

"And you!" The old soldier called over his shoulder in English at the head peeking out from the tent flaps, "Mind your own fucking business or I'll tie you to a tree and leave you there!"

Sakura made a face at the soldier—he smiled gleefully at this—and whipped back inside the protective barrier, no doubt fuming and brooding.

"The lecture will be in a half hour," Kakuzu continued in German. "Until then, do whatever you want, you sons of bitches."

The men stared at him as he walked back behind the plane. Several minutes of silenced ensued, permeated occasionally with a cough or a shiver. It really was cold out there, and the temperature dropped steadily with the sun. Deidara wondered what he and Sakura would do up in the air, where the high altitude made the icy weather almost unbearable.

_Well,_ he ticked off mentally, _there are blankets, we have jackets, and she'll be on my lap for most of the trip to the camp. I think we're good, I just hope she doesn't resist being so close together._

Something warm on his shoulder alerted him to a presence from behind, and he turned slightly, seeing whom he expected.

"Deidara," Sakura whispered. "I need your help with something in the tent." She released his shoulder and trudged back through the snow to the tent while he followed closely behind.

Inside, he trailed her as far as the first supporting pole before stopping to wait, watching for whatever she wanted him to do. Sakura looked back at him before he heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and she blushed before turning around, allowing the coat she wore to slip from her back, revealing the top of an unbuttoned nurse uniform.

"Could you do it up for me? It's hard to reach, and I always had the girls do it for me before."

Removing his hands from his pockets, Deidara stepped up behind her and methodically began to close up the dress, tiny button after tiny button. When he was about halfway done, she spoke.

"Thank you so much."

"For the dress? It is nothing."

"No, no," she shot back, seemingly irritated. "For not just handing me over to those guys when they got here. I mean, you could've done any number of things, and you didn't."

Deidara was silent, still buttoning although concentrating on Sakura's words, trying not to miss anything. Fluency was still a bit off for him.

"Well, what I'm trying to say is—Kakuzu told me what he told the men, earlier. About you taking me to the camp and I didn't know. He made sure I was aware it was for your sake and not mine, of course," here she laughed bitterly, "but I'm just glad I'm going with you, and not with—with him, I guess."

The last button fastened and Deidara pulled the sides of the coat back up where they were before and clutched her shoulders, and, turning her around zipped the zipper back up with a pat of finality to settle the affair. He released her and looked back in her eyes, not entirely startled to see tears forming there, but a little bemused when she launched herself at him and threw her arms around his waist for an entirely different reason than the last time the oddity occurred.

"Ohh," she moaned. "What are we going to _do?_ The chance of us surviving any of this is almost _nothing,_ Deidara! And what if we get—get shot down, or starve to death, or freeze in the night, or we run out of fuel in a no man's zone or something? When I signed up for this job I thought I'd never have to worry about _any_ of it, and here it is staring me in the face, and I didn't even know it was coming…oh, I wish I could stop making a fuss all the time!"

He held her while she cried. There was nothing else to do.

Presently, Kakuzu strode into the tent like a tomcat on the prowl and stalked over to the hugging pair, an impassive look on his face. Already, Deidara knew something was terribly wrong, and the Colonel seemed at ease to deliver the news, in English, no less.

"To hell with the health speech, you'll have to hear one of mine some other time, I suppose." He locked eyes with Deidara. "There are many troops coming. You must fly out now."

* * *

Of all the things that Sakura imagined happening to her in the course of the war, sitting on the lap of a German in an American plane bound for a Death Camp certainly wasn't among them.

Dressed in his hybrid uniform with the filched set behind the seat—for later use—Deidara spent a few minutes flipping switches on and off, gently tugging the yoke this way and that, straining over her shoulder to eyeball the low switches and pedals, and finally to accept a parting offering from Hidan, who said it was 'the best he could fucking do.'

During one of the German supply raids, Hidan had apparently come across a large storage of baking powder, which was totally useless. Fortunately, the wrapper around the metal container featured a pretty girl in an apron, so, many ripping noises later, Clabber Girl made the rounds throughout the Bulge soldiers.

Personally, Hidan was hard to part with Clabber Girl Serial Number Seven Thousand, but alas, he eloquently bemoaned, a man must some day let his woman go. Miss Thousand was given the full pilot's wife's place of honor by an amused Deidara, slipped in between a slit where metal met buttons and knobs, and where both he and Sakura could look at her when they needed a reality check, or just something to brighten their senses.

The plane's engines were flipped on, Deidara tested flaps, rudders, life raft (maybe he was joking about that one), and messed around with a cornucopia of buttons and brightly colored switches. He drove the plane around to find the level ground away from the river that the squadron had cleared of snow, and then waited. Sakura shivered from the cold, still freezing even with a jacket and a live heat source underneath her.

"The blanket is behind the chair," Deidara piped in while fiddling with the canopy windows. "Pull it tightly around you so it does not bother my feet." Sakura did so silently, feeling entirely too overwhelmed by the situation to say much. Everything was going by so _fast,_ and not a lot made sense. Sakura looked out the window to see Kakuzu approaching, and leaned back against Deidara when the man climbed on the wing and tapped on the cockpit glass.

The windows opened, a few words in German and an envelope were exchanged, a point given in the right direction, and then the plane was moving rapidly along the ground. Sakura held on tightly to the harness keeping her and Deidara in the seat and tried to keep her breathing as normal as possible. As of now, there was no oxygen tank to connect to the central unit, so she'd have to be extra careful. Out the front window, she could see the tent approaching and bit her lip hard, the iron taste of blood trickling throughout her mouth.

"Up now," Deidara commented idly.

"Wha—? Augh! Oh! Oh, no!" Sakura squealed as a hidden force reached up and grabbed her stomach, making her feel like she weighed five hundred pounds. What she could see out of the corner of her eyes, before she screwed them shut tightly, was a white forest quickly shrinking underneath them. She faintly registered the grinding noise indicating…what?

"I have put the wheels up now. We are not going to die. That is good," Deidara sighed.

Sakura gasped and tried to calm her breaths into something that _didn't_ resemble the early stages of hyperventilation. Behind her, Deidara chortled merrily.

"Do you not like flying?"

Sakura whimpered and clutched the harness tighter.

"It is different, being in a jet and not an airplane. It is not as bumpy. But then there's no fun."

Sniffing, Sakura imagined herself on the ground, searching for some sort of anchor to earth. _This_ was certainly a change from being ferried in on a big, fancy jet! Eventually, though, she gained the courage to look beyond the cockpit controls and peer out the window on both sides to get a wonderful view of the wings and external engines.

_Great,_ Sakura lamented. _This is going to be _such_ an exciting trip._

Her sigh alerted Deidara, who asked if she was hungry, which of course she was. Starving, really. He held the controls with one hand, just for a minute (Sakura screamed anyway) and snatched a bag of dried apples, something that miraculously hadn't been eaten back at camp.

The bag was opened mournfully by a gloomy Sakura, who was beginning to think that she wouldn't mind being shot down right then and there. The first couple of chips gave her a momentary nostalgia, though, and she lost herself in their crunchy goodness—containing natural and artificial ingredients—lulled into drowsiness by the gentle hum of the Lockheed-grade motors.

The pilot was just as hungry, however. Sakura could feel him watching the bag over her shoulder, and huffed before snatching a large chip from the bag and holding it up over her shoulder for him to grab in his teeth.

"Those are good."

"Hmm."

The rest of their afternoon was encompassed in an array of silence, permeated occasionally by the crunch of Red Delicious.

The next exciting thing that happened was finding a place to land, which both the occupants of the plane took to with vigor. Sakura succeeded eventually, pointing out a small farmhouse and a barn on the edge of a large field. Despite Deidara's concerns—there was a possibility of Nazi soldiers waiting inside, resting after a pillage—Sakura pointed out that the farmhouse was terribly burnt, and judging by its weathered state, it wasn't a recent affair.

They landed in the field with little hassle, though it was difficult pulling the plane into hiding inside the barn, even _with_ Kakuzu's ropes. After closing the barn doors, all the two could manage for a moment was bending over double and panting heavily.

"Okay," Deidara heaved, resting a leaden hand on Sakura's back. "We go inside now into the house." Deidara pointed to the quaint, brick house, its long, angled roof and squatting side panels typical of the French countryside.

"It's too bad it's all burnt up. I bet it was really pretty in its prime," Sakura commented, walking cautiously towards the porch. She turned to Deidara, who had already caught up and advanced to the front door. Pausing at the opening, the German quietly fingered a symbol hammered into the red oak, _'Juif.'_

Sakura stopped on the stairs to shake the snow off her boots, then, joined Deidara to stare at the horrible symbol. There was no need to say anything else about the occupants of the house; this surely meant they were dead, victims of Nazi occupation of Vichy France.

"Deidara…"

He put his palm against the door and slowly pushed the door end, a high-powered pistol appearing in his hand from nowhere. Sakura drew in a breath, feeling the tension in the air and not liking it one bit. The smell of death wafted in from inside, a different smell than any she ever smelt as a nurse, even from patients too far gone to save. This smell held an aura of terror, of a family being forced out of their house into the snow to be shot by the SS one by one, dropping into the snow like so many felled before.

"Deidara!" Sakura's voice had a note of panic.

"Quiet, woman!" he hissed back. "Get behind me and do not make a sound."

Creaks from the weathered house moaned throughout the house with each step they took crossing the kitchen from the front door, and Sakura thought that if there _were_ anyone hiding in the house still, they would surely know someone else was inside with them now. Trying to take her mind off the actual situation, the nurse instead studied the inside of the house, having never been inside a French farmhouse, besides.

The kitchen was fairly ordinary; she suspected that anything _un_ordinary had already been filched from the domain, but her curiosity was in no way lessened. The dining table was large and solid, and at the end of it a small baby chair lay broken underneath the legs, enticing a pang of sorrow from Sakura's heart. It was so strange, walking through this house behind a suspicious blond with a gun. Once, a family had lived there, and once, a baby had cooed for its morning milk from that chair.

Suddenly she felt like an intruder, and shrunk closer to Deidara as they moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. There was nothing to see in there, the room was entirely bare, and even the socket covers had been torn from the wall to make a profit, leaving brightly colored wires hanging out of the rectangular hole, mocking the lack of color in the home.

The single point of interest here was the far west wall; it had completely crumbled down under the force of stick grenades or other such weapon, leaving nothing but insulation to wisp from the remaining standing structures. A chill wind blew from the barren space, and Sakura tensed her muscles trying not to shiver as she followed Deidara into two other adjoining rooms, both empty. By the size of all, and the house as a whole, she concluded the past owners were very wealthy. The house looked very old, and had probably been in the family many years.

Next came upstairs, and Sakura dreaded it. Darn those scary movies she watched at the nursing school! Stairs always meant death, especially for girls. Then again, those girls were alone and didn't have wild-eyed people with guns guarding them and glancing at them over their shoulder every two seconds.

Creaking like mad, the trip up the stairs was definitely the worst part of Sakura's day so far, and to hell with the plane ride. Every step—and subsequent creak—baited her to imagine a large, black-bearded man with red eyes haunting her on the way up, holding a large butcher knife, and disappeared as soon as you turned to look him in his pallid face. _Stop it! Don't think about that!_

The staircase ended at the end of the house, with hallways running parallel to the stairwell on both sides, each hallway having three doors each. Deidara made a sharp u-turn and walked the left hallway to the beginning, and the first door.

This room, oddly enough, was filled with quilts. They hung from every rafter and beam, were pinned to the wall, and a couple spread out on the floor. Obvious talent and many hours had gone into these quilts, layers of dust aside; the embroidery was unorthodox and seemed to make a complex story with the thread rather than a simply caricature or pattern. Sakura imagined a mother and daughter sitting serenely in the living room in separate chairs embroidering the quilt together, frequent pauses as the elder gently corrected a rogue stitch.

She would have liked to kneel down and study the quilts, perhaps they would give insight on the family who lived here. So far, the only thing evident was that they were Jewish. Deidara had become a meticulous, calculating soldier upon the discovery of the house, however, and would let her do no such thing, at least, not until he had scoured the dwelling's every square centimeter for signs of life. He left the room after a sharp glance about and left it, closing the door behind Sakura after she scurried out.

The second and third doors were empty and barren of even a loose nail. The pair passed beyond the stairwell to the opposite side, starting again at the first door on the end of the right hallway.

This room contained what was once a bedroom, and a quick check of other connecting doors revealed a large walk-in closet and a luxurious bathroom with a marble tub inlaid with gold leaf. The polish had worn off with trials and tribulations, but the marble seemed unharmed, though the initial invaders had scratched much of the gold out, probably. Sakura ran a hand over the cool, hard marble and envisioned herself sinking into a hot bath with—Sakura blinked. Well, with her own self, of course. Who else would—?

Glass bottles clattered together and tipped over as Deidara rummaged through all the cabinets, and Sakura blushed watching him, feeling betrayed by this stray emotion. Well, it was war, anyway. Weird things were bound to happen between people, and he certainly wasn't the worst man she ever came across.

A second skim of the bedroom's closet ended the excavation of the fourth room, and Sakura trotted to keep up with her current protector as he closed this door behind them like all the others and entered into the middle room. The biggest of all, this room beheld many children-sized beds, six in all, and four of them smashed to pieces. Broken dolls and half-finished, crude pictures littered the ground beneath their feet, and Sakura felt the same pang from the kitchen as she gazed sullenly at the near-remains of happy brothers and sisters.

Once again, there was no time to gaze any longer than it took the German to scan the room for recent inhabitants. The last room, like so many others, was empty, although in the center of the floor a three-legged stool sat vigil, and at long last the exhausted runaways fell back to regroup in the kitchen. Sakura sat well away from the baby chair as she watched Deidara check his gun with a melancholy irony filling her senses.

With the gun back in his pocket, Deidara decided the next most important thing was to bring inside what needed to be brought in from the plane, and arrange baths and a suitable sleeping area. Though not satiated, food could wait to be prepared until the morning; the sun already touched the ancient trees lining the far recesses of the emaciated field, and the later it got, the colder it would be.

The trek out to the plane and back repeated five times until a cornucopia of small items covered the kitchen table, including Deidara's carefully folded _SA-Obergruppenführer _uniform, the letter, and a series of maps. Sakura sighed and picked up the uniform, fingering its cheap, light brown fabric with distaste, and plucking the shirt from the table with her thumbs and forefingers. The creases were nearly ingrained in the fabric from so many weeks of being hauled around by the Colonel, but if Deidara would help her heat some water, maybe she could find an iron somewhere and get them out.

"Are you going to put this on now, or later?" Sakura inquired of the stolid blond. "I think you should put it on, at least after I clean it up a bit. If you'll help me, I think there's some wood in the barn. Then we could heat water for an iron if I find one, and we can take baths." She gently replaced the uniform on the table. "I don't think the water will be working."

She looked up at Deidara, who had moved away from the table and stood looking out the window over the sink, hands clasped behind his back. She tilted her head to the side and watched him, wondering if he knew at all how much he looked like an authority figure. He'd fit the SA rank nicely as far as acting; any picture of the Nazis Sakura saw in the slideshows during her "mission" debriefing showed all of them holding their hands like that. It gave them character, but also a visual sign of dominance.

"You look like a real soldier," she called to him softly from her chair, laying her head down upon crossed arms. At the window, Deidara raised his chin slightly, enough for her to notice the change in demeanor.

"I never wanted to be this."

"I know."

He shook his head slowly. "No, you do not. You have no thoughts of it, _mein Frau."_

The sun blinked one last time over the horizon before immersing the farmhouse kitchen in darkness, save for the eerie light from the moon, bathing the snow with a blue shimmer. Sakura produced a candle and matches from her coat pocket and lit the gnarly stick with a flare of the tiny flame, shaking the match out and setting it on the table next to the uniform.

Pointedly glancing at Deidara, who had turned to witness the lighting affair with blank interest, she began walking slowly towards the stairs, rather relieved after Deidara pushed past her hurriedly and grasped her empty hand as he swept by, pulling her up the staircase behind him.

At the end of one of the hallways, Deidara pushed open the door to reveal the bedroom from earlier, and Sakura felt a sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn't sleep in there. It just wasn't…right, for some reason. She knew almost without a doubt that a Nazi death squad had killed the occupants of the house, along with all of the couple's children, and she felt a thick despair in this room that she cared not to exploit further.

"Deidara, I don't want to sleep here."

Already drawing back the covers from the bed, he glanced back at her, genuinely surprised.

"Why not? It is a bed and it is drawn up, almost like waiting for us to come and sleep in it, okay?"

Sakura bit her lip and squinted at him through the flickering of the candle. A drop of hot wax landed between her fingers and she hissed quietly, waiting for his response. He dropped the covers he was holding and eyed her incredulously.

"Ghosts do not haunt this house, _Liebchen._ I have not felt it. They will not care if we use their bed, for they are not here to care, _ja?"_

"Oh, Deidara," she gently reproved. "That's so terrible. And I _do_ feel it."

The man continued eying her, warily this time, and waited.

"There's an evil presence in this room. I can just _feel_ it. I don't want to stay in here at all. I could never sleep, and I'd always think there was something around the corner to _kill_ me, or something. I just can't, all right?" She drew a shuddering breath while Deidara replaced the sheets, never breaking eye contact. "On the other side of the stairs is a room with quilts in it. We can make a pallet there and wake up early in the morning to make breakfast and take baths, and you can put on your uniform and stuff. Just—I don't want to stay in here, please."

By the end of her speech, Deidara had already returned to her side, surprising Sakura in his sudden lack of argumentativeness.

"Okay," he huffed good-naturedly. "We go to the quilt room now, yes."

He started down the hall and Sakura smiled quietly, following him to the doorway and inside, where the quixotic quilts from before still lay there, placid and dusty. A French-style window adorned the wall opposite the door, which Sakura pried open to dangle the quilts from and shake the daylights out of them, repulsed by the sheer amount of dust that drifted into the snow with a single shake.

Five quilts would do the job, she calculated. It was all too bad that they weren't in possession of a veritable sleeping bag or pillow, but she was rather an expert at pallet making. Two quilts folded in half at the width mark would make the base, which she positioned over the rug for extra protection against the chilly floor. One quilt folded lengthy several times would make a suitable pillow for now, and the last two they would cover up with to battle the cold, Ardennes air permeating the old house.

In the end, Sakura decided to take off her jacket for a simple comfort cause; the buttons and odd ends dug into her back when she lay down. For the most part, however, the general, unspoken consensus was to sleep in one's clothes. It wasn't like they had a shift and long underwear readily available, and not only would it keep things warmer (and decent, a scandalous thought suggested), it would relieve the tension of having to get out of bed in the freezing morning air to put clothes on.

They lay down on the quilts and shuffled close together, closer still when a particularly violent gale struck the south side of the house. The two cover-up quilts were clumsily groped for in the shallow light and drawn up to chin level. Sakura squirmed upward and craned her neck to blow out the candle standing upright on the hardwood, supported by its own melted wax, and then shuffled back down into the heat.

Deidara sighed, a drowsy sort of sigh, and wrapped an arm around Sakura's waist, which she promptly removed. The second sigh was significantly more disappointed than the former. Closing her eyes, Sakura was asleep in a matter of seconds, too tired to even register the offending arm's return right back into no man's land, in which it rested, quite innocently, for the remainder of the night.


	7. A Time to Weep, a Time to Laugh

**A/N:** This title is brought to you by Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. It's a great verse, and used a lot in different places if you look for the references.

(1) To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: (2) A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; (3) A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; (4) A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; (5) A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; (6) A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; (7) A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; (8) A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

* * *

The next morning was a godsend to Deidara; it felt like the first time in ages that he had the opportunity to sit down and think, work of his own accord, and be with a nice, pretty girl who catered to his needs _most_ of the time.

Waking up had been uneventful, unfortunately; he had honestly looked forward to her early-morning bitching. The arm incident was brushed over, however, and Sakura had promptly gotten up without a word and pranced downstairs. In no time at all, wonderful smells began to waft up from the stairwell and Deidara changed his clothes in record time.

He dashed downstairs and peered at the girl from the banister. She was at the stove—apparently there was still a small amount of gas supply left in the old thing—and some eggs were frying in a pan on the top burner.

"Where did you find the eggs?"

Sakura started and started wide-eyed at Deidara for a moment before calming. Deidara rolled his eyes. Would she ever get over that? They'd been together for about a week or so now or whatever, and you'd think she'd—wait. He looked down at himself, surprised to see the SA uniform on his body.

"I went out to get some cooking oil from the plane in the barn, and I heard chickens up in the loft. They've been eating the seed supply up there, it seems. There were lots of eggs, and I can cook a hen for us before we leave, whenever that is." She gave him a once-over before tipping the now-scrambled eggs into two plates. "I laid your uniform out by the bed last night. I didn't think you noticed."

"Oh."

"Your collar is crooked."

"Yes. I will fix that now."

A silence settled over the kitchen as Deidara descended the rest of the stairs and sat at the head of the table. Sakura put a plate in front of him and took the seat next to him.

"Oh! I forgot forks. Wait a sec, will you?"

The forks, oddly enough, were under the sink in a jar, pushed up against the wall.

"That's funny," Sakura remarked as she returned to the table. "It's almost like they were trying to hide them. Do you think they're—?"

"Solid silver," Deidara finished, balancing the fork on his finger before starting to eat. He wasn't surprised, really. Jews were rich, all of them. It wasn't out of place for even a farming Jewish family to conceal finds like these, and he wondered what else was hidden.

"Oh, that's really neat. You're right, here's the mark right here. This is an American brand, too. That's cool. I wonder how they got them. What, you're already finished?"

Well, so what if he was done? You got used to scarfing down food in the ranks. This woman obviously got way too much free time on her hands.

"It's because most Jews are rich, _Liebchen. _My grandmother was one, yes."

"Oh?" The nurse looked up from her food, seemingly curious. "What was she like? I mean, you don't have to talk about her if you don't _want_ to, but…"

"Why would I not want to?"

"Well…the last time I brought it up, before we—well, when the osprey came, I mean…you just didn't want to talk about it, that's all. You seemed really upset. So I just dropped it."

"Well, maybe I was not having good day, _Liebchen,"_ Deidara mumbled.

Sakura laughed, even throwing her head back a little. "Do you ever have a good day? You always seem to find trouble wherever you go. And what does that mean, anyway? 'Lib-chin?' "

Deidara _hmmph_ed in response and pushed his plate towards the middle of the table.

"Come on, Deidara," she whined. "You keep calling me that. Is it some sort of ridiculous pet name?"

"I will not say. You do not need to know these things, okay?"

"What? _Why?"_

"Because they are secret, German people things. My secret, too."

"Oh, that's just immature. Come _on,_ Deidara! Now you're just messing with me."

"_Ja._ I am messing."

"Deidara! Oh, you're such a _jerk!"_

He grinned, happy to finally compose himself after shaking free of some unwarranted company back at the tent. And what better way to wind down than play his favorite game, Bother the American Lady?

"I give up. I just give up." She finished up the last bite of eggs and neatly stacked her plate over his, placing the forks at an angle, prongs facing down, a sign for the waiters to whisk the covers off to the kitchen. An empty formality, but probably just a habit.

The sun emerged from behind the barn and illuminated the house in a warm glow, one that Deidara welcomed. He was ready for winter to be over, but hell if he'd ever gotten that wish granted before. As soon as the war was over, he'd move to Egypt. No, to Columbia. Maybe India. Yeah, that sounded good.

There was still something to clear up, though. He'd never really talked to anyone before that really listened, and what he wanted to say was just begging to be told. It sounded pathetic and weak, but the truth was that Deidara really missed being able to converse with anyone at all.

"You asked of my grandmother earlier. Do you want to know about her?"

Suddenly Sakura seemed quieter than before.

"Yes, I do."

"There is not much to say, yes. Do you want to hear anyway?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Okay. I already told you she was a Jew. She married my grandfather a long time ago, even though the Jewish people were not wanting her to marry him. They do not exactly support marriage out of their religion. They married, and when my mother died I lived with them on their farm. She worked hard in the field, man's work, and taught me how to sew in the evening. My grandfather did not like that. He thought it was for only the women.

"One day, in the summer of 1934—I was almost nine years old, then—members of the Nazi party came to our house with guns and dogs. I remember them because they looked so strange from my window. One had black hair and a sad face, and the other had red hair and the same sad face. I saw them later when I was forced into service, yes.

"I was in my room playing with my toys when I heard the shots from below. I ran down the stairs to see what was wrong, but when I got there, all I saw was my grandfather crying in his chair, and in the kitchen, blood covered the floor. You see, I did not know, but my grandmother was an avid communist, and word gets out fast. That she was a Jew as well sealed her fate."

Tears hit the table as Sakura began to cry silently.

"Deidara, that's so terrible, I had no idea that—"

"I do no know if they killed her there and took her body to put in a pit somewhere, if the dogs ate her, or if they sent her to _Dachau,_ but I am content not to know. Not a day after the soldiers came, my grandfather sent me to live with my father, who was not a kind man. He always hit me and called me names, but I suppose he was sad that his mother was died, so I bore it.

"I started a business when I was sixteen and moved to a military town. I made military explosives mostly, but sometimes I made fireworks. That was real art. I should like to see some fireworks again. Mine were always the best kind." Tired, he closed his eyes and listened to the woman's sniffing. "Do not cry. It is better that she died then, and did not have to live in this time, yes."

"But you were only a baby when she died! How can someone let that happen?"

A shrug was his only answer. Why did people let things like that happen? It was simple, really.

"Everyone was afraid of the Nazis. When you hear that your neighbors have been taken away to…to _Chelmno_ or some place like this, the only thing that everyone is thinking is that the Nazis will come to their house next, okay? They are only thinking about themselves."

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

A breeze rushed in from the demolished west wall and ruffled the maps on the table. Sakura snatched them before they could be blown away and clutched them to her chest until the wind subsided.

"I need to see that, woman. We will fly out right after we bathe ourselves and eat a second time."

Sakura looked at him in disbelief. "So soon?"

"We do not have time to explore. We have to get this letter delivered. Something tells me that old Colonel will know if we do not give it to the resistance. What are you making faces at? There is no choice in the matter."

Scowling at him, Sakura snapped, "You don't know what's in that letter. It could be a damn _cookie_ recipe for all we know. It could be—I don't know, an order to kill all the prisoners in Auschwitz. We should look at it, or find some way to figure out what's inside."

"That is not possible. This Mendelssohn will know a tampered letter, I think."

The chair squeaked when Sakura laid her head on the table, wrapping her arms around her head moodily.

"Fine then," was her muffled reply. "How long to Auschwitz?"

For a short moment, Deidara glanced at the map, marking their position with an ink pen.

"From this house, it will take about two and a half hours with full tanks, which are not available for the moment. We will have to stop once more here, where Kakuzu marked a fuel and food stop. In all, we will get there by sundown, yes. How lovely."

"Hmmph."

Deidara let out a bark of bitter amusement and stood, folding the maps and stuffing them into his officer's front pocket as he leered at the sedentary American. He ruffled her hair good-naturedly and she swiped at him testily, losing her balance and falling out of the chair, and then chased the man up the stairs and back into the quilt room, shouting at him the whole way.

* * *

_Man, I need a bath_ really _bad._

It was all too true, unfortunately, she could _almost_ smell herself if she stood really still, and she wasn't even on her period. How embarrassing.

If she squinted hard, she could see Deidara's silhouette in the house, waiting for her. Since he was technically still sick, even though any visible symptoms were almost gone, it wasn't good for him to do work he didn't absolutely have to do. The pneumonia scare was over and done with, thank the Lord, but he could damage something if he did any hard work, even if it wasn't noticeable at first. Her fear was that he might break a leg or an arm doing some foolish man thing, and then where would they be? Stuck wherever the plane was, that's where.

She kicked bales of hay here and there, searching for some metal containers that lay beneath most water pumps, which she was sure were around her somewhere. They could make a fire in the stove in the house, then heat melted snow in the container, and Deidara would carry it up the stairs and deposit the water into the tub in the master bedroom. It was a shame there wasn't a tub downstairs (unusual, really) but it was better than _nothing_ was.

A smaller bucket would be more practical, she thought now as she spied several two-gallon buckets propped up against the wall. Now they could have four buckets heating up at once and they could make almost an assembly line, and get it done much faster. Sakura praised herself with a smile, cocky hands on hips, then hauled the buckets into the kitchen where Deidara waited, just standing up from lighting the stove.

"I have the water here," he called over his shoulder. "I melted some in this bucket while you were waiting.

Apparently she'd been gone quite a while, then. There was at least five gallons in the 'bucket,' which looked more like a washing tub than anything. Deidara reached for a separate pail and dipped it into the tub, carefully avoiding excess water to spill out as he put a container of the melted snow on each burner, in quick succession.

Ten minutes later and there was a lovely, steaming bath upstairs just waiting for Sakura to jump in it…if only Deidara hadn't got there first. His argument was that he'd done most of the work, and Sakura was feeling too emotionally put out to argue, so there it was. She sat on the bed and swung her legs back and forth for a quarter of an hour, examining the quilt on the bed.

Like the quilts in the other room, this one had a similarly unorthodox pattern; this one depicted blue herons catching trout (one had a frog) along the wide border and in the center, there were six swans, all looking at a young girl sitting in a chair in the bottom right corner, who was sewing a white shirt. Sakura assumed it was a fairy tale of some sort, and resolved to take the quilt with her when she left.

"I am done now, woman," a heavily accented voice called from the bathroom. "You can come in now."

Sakura huffed and marched towards the bathroom moodily, throwing open the door and waiting for the light mist to clear. And when it did, she sorely wished that she'd waited until he came out, because there Deidara was, stark naked and dripping wet.

For a moment, the two stared at each other, and then Sakura shrieked, throwing her hands up to her face, stingingly embarrassed. Deidara sighed and walked past her, out the door, seemingly unconcerned about the little affair and her carrying-on. Well, of course _he_ wouldn't have any modesty at all. What crassness.

Maybe all Germans were like that. So far, the only ones she'd seen amounted to _that._ Sakura closed her eyes and tried to breathe regularly, sliding her hands down her face to clasp them over her racing heart.

It wasn't as if she'd never seen a naked man, of course, she was a nurse and all, but with him, it was a little different. Amid growing feelings for the man—Maybe it was Lima Syndrome or something. Yeah, that sounded right.—she had tried to avoid physical conflict, but this certainly was something she hadn't prepared for.

Why is it, when confronting an unclothed male in all his glory, that the first place your eyes go is the penis? This is a mystery most astounding. It will probably never be deciphered.

Shaking her head, Sakura tore off her own clothes and got into the water in record time. To her pleasant surprise, it was still hot. That was nice. Now she could relax and lie back in the water, and—wonder of wonders—wash her hair. Just an arm's length away, under the cabinet, there rested a glorious bottle of shampoo. Never mind that it had strange gunk stuck to the bottom; it was there, and it foamed, so all was well.

She dunked her head under the water, flipped it back up neatly, then stood and wrung out what she could reach of her hair, which was creeping past her shoulders now. She shivered and reached for the towel on the sink counter. Deidara must've put it out for her, because she certainly didn't remember putting it there.

Of course, Deidara chose that very moment to barge in—fancy-schmancy Nazi uniform _on_ this time—and start brushing his teeth in the sink, a cup of water in his hand to do the work the broken waterline couldn't afford to assist. She started and threw her arms around her waist, unsure which part of her was more important to cover.

"Deidara, you—I—what are you—? Get _out!"_ She dropped back into the water and scooted to the far side, back towards the offender. As per usual, he was quite unalarmed.

"I have seen naked women," he consoled, but just succeeded in digging a bigger hole for himself. "They are all the same. I do not understand why you are so afraid."

"I'm not afraid, I'm pissed _off._ You don't just walk into bathrooms when people are taking _baths_ in there. I'm not your _wife_ or something, you ass."

The swish-swish sound of the toothbrush stopped, followed by the usual rinse-and-spit rigmarole. When Sakura summoned the nerve to turn back around, thinking he'd probably left, there he was, sitting right beside the tub. But not looking at her, just sitting and staring at the ceiling.

"Perhaps eventually, yes?"

Sakura sighed. Might as well take the bait.

"Eventually what?"

"Would you ever marry me, _Liebchen?"_

And suddenly she felt very shy.

"Well, I don't know," she mumbled, tracing patterns over the water with her fingers. "I don't really know you."

"But if you knew me better?"

"Um."

He waited. Looked like he wasn't leaving anytime soon without a satisfactory reply. Damn him.

"Well, I guess if I knew you better…if you weren't so weird, maybe…if you cut your hair. Not that I don't like it or anything, but it's a bit long. If it were over your eyes it'd be okay." She held her breath and let it out slowly. _"Maybe_ then I would marry you. But why do you want to know? That's a very affronting question, you know. Not polite at all. I mean, I've only known you for…for less than a month. It's hardly time to be considering anything. Besides, I'm an Ally, and you're an Axis. That's a pretty hefty difference there."

But Deidara had turned to look at her, and seemed a little hurt.

"Do you think I am strange?"

She scoffed.

"Well, I most certainly do. All you do all the time is tease me and poke fun, and then when I'm around other people, you don't want them to even look at me. Don't give me excuses, because I know exactly what that means. I've seen it a million times before."

Eventually he laughed, and Sakura felt a bit more relieved, which was immediately halted upon the realization that she'd dropped her arms and had scooted over to where he sat. Well, he hadn't said anything, so it would be okay if she just draped her arm over the tub a little. Nothing provocative or anything of the sort, but probably a little coquettish. A surge of adrenaline sped through her veins at her abject boldness, and she decided she liked that feeling quite a lot. Deidara stopped laughing and shook his head.

"If that is true, you must think all men are strange, _ja._ Do you? Will you go to the Americas and live in the jungle, where there are no men, only savage women with spears?"

"No, Deidara," she laughed, all too aware that he was dodging the point of the observation. "I don't want to be an Amazon woman. I like where I am just fine."

His fingers drummed against the tub suddenly, and he twisted around to look her in the face with a blank expression. Sakura felt a bit sick in the stomach. That was the way he looked before…

"Do you?"

"Do I…what?"

"Do you like where you are, yes? Here?"

"Deidara, I wasn't talking about the bathroom, or the plane or anything. I meant being a nurse. That's all."

There was the bored expression again. Damn. And here she thought she'd cleansed him of all condescending moods and emotions. He stood and walked away, then, but stopped short at the door with a hand on the frame.

"I will go find some lunch, okay?"

And then he was gone.

About half an hour later, Sakura finally mustered up the non-laziness to get the hell out of the bathtub and put her clothes back on, belatedly cursing herself for not washing them in the tub with her.

Downstairs, two chickens, their necks snapped, waited mournfully by the sink for her to pluck and clean (of course he'd let _her_ do the gross part), while the stolid German sat at the table, tapping a trench knife on the wood repetitively. In front of him, two cans of pineapple sat, lids open, with forks sticking out of the rims, and Deidara silently pointed out a canister of cooking oil on the stove.

Deciding that the reigning silent treatment was well and jolly to uphold, Sakura took out another frying pan from a cabinet and quickly heated the oil while she fumbled around with the chickens' feathers and failed miserably at efficiently extracting the innards. The biggest embarrassment of all was that Deidara came up behind her and berated her for almost throwing away the liver, which you were apparently supposed to cook with the rest of the chicken.

"Hey, I don't know how to cook a chicken," she snapped at the blond, who was busy placing all the edible parts on a separate plate for her. "My family couldn't afford chickens, especially with the depression going on and all. Half a million kids. No work anywhere."

She snatched the plate from Deidara and dumped the contents into the frying pan, holding the plate up when the oil hissed and crackled at her. Oil burns were _not_ fun.

"At my grandparents' farm, we had chickens, and goats, and horses, and cows, and—"

"So you were a rich boy."

"Well, a bit, yes."

A spoon flew at her from his direction and she caught it, prodding the chicken bits around.

"So do you…have any money from them at all?"

"That's a very affronting question, _Liebchen."_

They couldn't help but smile at each other, then, and Deidara completely forgot about his little silent treatment, for which Sakura was very grateful. Because when their lunch was gone and they piled into the plane, heading for the second stop—swan quilt included, traded in for the other blanket—she realized how terribly awkward it would be to sit one someone's lap who was mad at you, in a situation where there was absolutely no way out.

* * *


	8. Fly Away Home

**A/N:** Music is my hot, hot sex. Raise your hand if you love that song!

I know it's short, but it's transitions, people.

* * *

The trees, the land, and what was left of the houses were now all familiar, but to Deidara, there was an edgy atmosphere that hadn't been there before. This time, not even a glace strayed his way as he walked through the shell-shocked streets of a skeletal city, grimly surveying people he once knew, emaciated and pallid, pick through piles of concrete and bodies to find any trace of food or valuables.

An hour ago, he'd landed the plane in a sparse collection of mangy trees and left Sakura sentinel while he went to scout out the city. A few minutes ago, he realized that the path he was walking on was once a sidewalk, and that corpse in the gutter was once a little girl who sometimes came to watch drills at the base. He looked up to see the clock tower and a wasted frame remained, topped by sentry machine guns, their users long gone.

As he continued towards his street, he considered the situation, trying to decide whether it was good or bad. Of course, what he and Sakura had come for would still be there; no doubt there were some storages of fuel in the underground warehouses, and food could be bartered for, if not violently seized.

A young woman with a small boy passed him quickly, staring at the swastika on his arm. He felt its caustic presence bore through the jacket onto his bare skin, leaving a mark only he could see. The mark of the one thing he promised his grandmother he'd never be. It was a disguise, a wearable pseudonym to hide behind, but its effect was disturbingly real.

A stray bit of shrapnel clanged when he kicked it out of his path, and he watched the two wisps of life drift away into half of a drugstore. Plumes of smoke curled above the caved-in roof, and Deidara marked the place for quick inspection after a check on his house.

Things were different now that the bombers had come. The arrogance was gone, totally replaced with emptiness. There wasn't even bitterness at defeat, and to his right he saw a Jewish man and a Pole silently exchanging bags of wilted produce. Even _they_ didn't worry anymore. Could they feel it, too?

But what had really changed? Not the houses, not the landscape. Now there was a despair so deep and profound that it absolutely smothered anything else. As for Deidara, some part of him relished in it. Their pain meant that the war was turning against Germany, that the Allies drew closer to victory every day.

Neither side had his sympathies, really, but Deidara had to be wily to survive, and he knew that Germany losing the war would allow him to escape from this mad hell. The wartime inflation had gone through the roof, and money, most likely, got scoffed at nowadays by all the people waiting to peddle their treasures and heirlooms for a loaf of bread stretched by sawdust, toughened by weeks of hoarding.

His house presented itself to its owner just as Deidara expected, by not being there at all. The place had burned down at some point, and whatever was left from the fire salvaged.

"Well, that makes my job easier. Positives," he muttered to himself.

But it wasn't over yet.

He walked to the center of the foundation and kicked away part of a roof beam, and uncovered the familiar trapdoor entrance to his basement, which would be completely ordinary if it weren't stuffed to the brim with contraband.

Smiling, Deidara lifted the door up and dropped down to the floor below, running a hand over a box of grenades and dusting off bottles of explosive chemicals. It was a shame he'd be leaving all this behind, but there were _some_ things he'd take along, of course.

And it wasn't like he didn't plan to make sure no one tampered with what got abandoned, anyhow.

Several hours later, he met back up with a near-panicked Sakura.

"Hey!" she called to him from the cockpit angrily. "That was so rude of you to just run off and—oh, my _God!_ What's _that?_ Where did you _get_ all that? You didn't have anything to do with that explosion a quarter hour ago, did you?"

"Sniper rifle, some grenades, and things," Deidara yawned, answering her with an air of accomplished boredom. "They were in my basement. And yes, I had _something_ to do with the explosion."

Sakura scoffed and ungainly flopped out of the window, ending up sitting on the edge of the wing with her arms propped up behind her. The coat she wore covered her hands, acting as sorts of gloves and mittens in the absence of real ones. Deidara added a pair of woman's gloves to his growing list of Things I Must Acquire.

"What did you do? Light a bunch of black powder?"

"Black powder? Are you insulting me, _Liebchien?_ I only use that as a last resort, _ja?_ No, no," he laughed, excited at the interest. Well, and here was someone to test appreciation of his talent.

"I was using the chemicals," the blond continued. "I detonated _Nitroglyzerin,_ ignited a little bit of myrol, and probably some _Isopropylnitrat,_ yes. There were lots of bottles. I lose count. The extra grenades in there maybe helped it along."

He barked out a laugh. It certainly felt good to be with his explosives again after so long. The woman wasn't feeling the same way, evidently. She slid off the wing slowly and picked her way through the snow to where he stood, loaded down with lovely assortments of high-powered, shiny weapons.

"Deidara."

"_Ja?"_

"How…far away is your house?"

"From this plane?"

"Yeah."

"Some kilometers, I think. Not long to walk, yes."

"_What?_ And I saw that stuff blowing up from _here!_ Deidara, were there _people_ in that city?"

"A few."

"Augh! And you just decided to blow up your basement, just like that. God help me, I'm in a plane with an escaped asylum patient. As soon as we get close to an Allied base, mister, you'd _better_ haul us over there, because _I_ am not going to stroll around with someone who thinks it's a bundle of chuckles to—to _completely_ disregard all life and blow up _highly_ explosive chemicals for no reason. I swear, if you're carrying that stuff _on_ you, you'd better—put me _down!"_

As Deidara had learned in the past few weeks, it was better to just get the main point over with, and save the explanations for later. So he picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and sauntered back towards the plumes of black smoke, not bothering to chuck the artillery in the plane. He had to make appearances, after all.

The two boys who greeted the odd pair at the door of the drugstore had little to say after they caught sight of Deidara's uniform and his baggage, not to mention the limp American slung over his shoulder. By now, the woman had calmed down, and if they could get a seat by the cook fire in the rubble, maybe he could explain a few things to her. He didn't think anyone here could speak English. He hoped not.

Their frightened faces didn't fool him one bit, though. It was still twenty against two in the drugstore alone, and the fury imprinted on these eyes at the sight of him read easily in Deidara's mind. Some explaining was in order, and fast.

There were twenty-two curious civilians in the store now, all coming to share the bonfire and its pot of Mulligan Stew dangling precariously over it by three metal rods. He walked close to it and slung Sakura down into the nearest makeshift chair (a large, overturned glass jug), where she pouted and mumbled and bit her thumbnail.

Oily brown hair shone dully in the winter sun from across the fire. It was the woman from before, though the little boy was nowhere to be seen.

"What are _you_ doing here, bastard?" she spat at him. "Thought you all ran off to save your precious _Leader._ And I certainly hope you aren't doing anything bad to that girl. We don't like your kind around here anymore. A fat lot of good you did us, as you can see."

She glared at him, and Deidara tensed at the shifting of the observing crowd.

"We're not here to start trouble," he replied lowly. "We're just stopping to get some things."

"Oh? And what makes you think we're going to give them to you? You may have those abominable scraps of metal, but we know perfectly well that you can't take on a thousand with them. Especially not if you're trying to worry about her. So tell me what you're here for."

"Look, I'm not here for anyone but myself, all right? This uniform isn't even mine. You probably don't believe me, but it's not my business to sit here and convince you what I'm saying is real."

"Hmmph. A likely story. And the girl? You picked up some country bumpkin, or what?"

"She's my girlfriend," Deidara sighed. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head down. "…And she's pregnant. I want to get her away from here as soon as possible."

* * *

She couldn't understand the conversation, but it had taken an interesting turn, apparently. Because suddenly she was the center of attention and amusement (and quite a lot of scorn) for a bunch of starving German people.

Peering over at Deidara, trying to ascertain what in hell was going on, merely earned her a glare that clearly said _be quiet or else._ She obeyed; there really wasn't anything to gain from talking, anyway.

Then the woman across the fire stood up and rattled off something that equally brought itself forward as _get away or else_ and all of the ragged group left, mumbling, as they scattered all directions from the drugstore.

Maybe she was some sort of leader for them, but more than likely she was a source of food. You just didn't argue with people who provided you with lunch nowadays. If they observed what a lovely shade of green the snow was this year, then by damn, it was green.

"Hey, girl," said a voice to her right.

Sakura nearly jumped out of her skin. _That_ wasn't the heavily-accented English she was expecting.

The brunette laughed, the kind of grandmothery, six-packs-a-day, raspy laugh that made you think everything was better.

"Honey, yer jumpier than a catfish in a gator hole. Don't you worry, now, I'll take care of it all fer y'all."

"You…sound American," Sakura tried nervously. The woman laughed again, leaning her head back to do so.

"Girl, Ah was _born_ there. These people here don't know that, though. The only kind of American they've ever heard is them Yanks. Now me, Ah'm straight outta Tennessee-Kentucky. Forget the particulars, ya see. Live right on the border, Ah do."

"Oh."

"Take this bowl here, and that one fer yer man, if that's what he wants to call himself. Can't have no pregnant teenage mother goin' around hungry, now, can Ah?"

"_What?"_

"Oh, I guess ya don't speak the language 'round here, do ya? Well, don't be embarrassed, hon. Ah've seen more pitiful scraps than you, now, you hear? Eat up. And _then_ we'll talk about them _other_ bullshit that Nazi puked up on me earlier. Like hell that ain't his uniform. Ah've heard it all, and Ah ain't no dumb cluck, ya see."

"Okay," Sakura mumbled. She drank some of the soup, surprised to see it actually tasted pretty good. Just as long as she didn't know what was in it, she'd be fine.

"Hey, there!" the woman yelled at Deidara, despite the fact he was sitting mere feet away. "Don't you mess up them damn bowls, now. They's all I got. So why don't y'all tell me why you're here, babies. My son'll go get you some water. Oh, and mah name's Tenten. What about you two?"

"I am Deidara, and this is my girlfriend Sakura," Deidara shouted back out of spite. He pointed at the woman. "And you are an American, yes? What are you doing here?"

"Ah don't suppose it's any of yer business, Nazi," Tenten scoffed. "But it is yer business to tell me what in Sam Hill you are doing in this place, and what you had to gain from damn near blowin' the whole town up, hmm?"

"We are stopping for supplies to continue on, I told you this. Oh, thank you for the water, little boy." Deidara paused to drink, and then passed the cup to Sakura. "I blew up my house because there were dangerous things in the basement. You should not go over there until all the chemicals are settled down again. It is dangerous, _ja." _

"Well, _that's_ certainly int'resting. Ah don't suppose Ah'll get any more out of you, then?"

"I do not suppose you will, woman."

"Hah! Listen to him. Like he owns the place. Well, if you used to live here and that _was_ yer house, than blow it up all you like, Ah s'pose. Finish that soup thar and be on yer way. It won't do y'all any good to be here if them Reds show up."

"Do you mean the Russians, ma'am?" Sakura inquired. Was it true? Were they really that far already?

"Mm hmm, baby," the woman answered grimly. "Everyone Ah see 'round here eventually keeps goin' westerner. It's safer with Americans than with them Reds, I tell ya. Bloodthirsty savages, all of 'em. You should go along, too. Safer for the baby, too."

Sakura coughed, and Deidara had the decency to look a little sheepish. She wished it was one of those times where you could just say 'Well, this has been a nice time,' and then excuse yourself, because that's what you wanted to do all along. Sadly, she didn't think this Tenten person would understand, and besides, this was far from a tea party.

"Well, you're done now, so git along before someone catches up t' you and decides to give ya what ya deserve, Nazi shit."

"It was lovely meeting you also, Miss Oily Hair."

"Go to hell."

"I am on my way right now, yes."

So they walked out of the drugstore together, away from Tenten and her Mulligan Stew, away from the still-smoldering house and the dead girl in the gutter, and along the path leading to the woods. They would need to get there fast just in case they had curious followers behind them, but there was still time to have a conversation.

"Deidara, I want to know why you said that," Sakura huffed.

"You know why," he huffed back easily. "If they thought otherwise, it might have created problems for us. Besides that, I received much more sympathy by having a pregnant girlfriend than a _zickig_ tagalong, _ja?_ Just calm down and stop being a bitch before you start. After I refuel the plane, only two and one-half hours will pass before we reach Auschwitz and that Mendelssohn person."

"That's nice, but where's all this fuel and stuff?"

"Follow me, woman. I know."

So she did, and he turned to his left and there was the military base, right there. Apparently, he was feeling crafty and thought a little backtracking was in order, because if Sakura squinted on her tiptoes she thought she could see the drugstore again.

More pressing matters were at hand now, though, so she helped him kick his way through the rubble inside a warehouse to reach a huge manhole in the back that led to a store of fuel.

It was easy enough to plan out, but the weight (not to mention sensitivity) of the fuel made Sakura apprehensive. But Deidara impressed her again by producing a giant wagon-like object from some hidden corner, and single-handedly chucked each container of airplane fuel onto the dilapidated jumble of wheels and wood—through periodic screams from Sakura to not throw it so hard or it would react with the pressure and air and blow everyone up, of course.

The next thing that happened was significantly more saddening and unfortunate and _real_ than anything Sakura had ever encountered. Along the edge of the base, on an area of snow that hadn't been touched in ages, it looked like, there lay a dead baby.

He looked no more than six months, though it may have been partially because he was so skinny. Sakura had always felt sad for people whose babies were premature and skimpy. Fat babies always looked happier and healthier, and usually their parents reflected that same inner light.

Then here was this dead child, forgotten in the snow, standing for everything Sakura had tried to ignore before. Sure, she knew before the Axis starved their prisoners of war a bit, and maybe hurt their citizens a little, but this was almost like a slap in the face for her.

This baby wasn't dead from starvation, or even frozen to death, because there in his stomach was a round, smooth hole from a high-powered pistol. Its eyes stared up at her coldly, and she felt mocked for her naivety.

All her career she'd been trained for this sort of thing, but nothing compared to actual experience but that experience itself. Sakura hated it, now that she knew what it felt like. If this was war, then they could have it.

Finding herself sobbing, she dashed off in the snow towards the plane, and when she reached it she scrambled up into the cockpit and lay there in a ball, crying. She didn't stop when she heard Deidara refueling the tanks, didn't even look up when he opened the window to toss the ammo in the back. She didn't get up to help him clear the snow for a takeoff.

She did have to move a little after Deidara started the plane and squished back into the pilot's seat, though, but only as little as needed.

Like always, the plane started off slow and painstaking on the treacherous terrain, built up speed, then gave her a tickling feeling in her stomach as the ground dropped out below them. This time, Deidara moved the plane quickly in a conspicuous detour of the city, keeping wary eyes on the anti-aircraft guns littered everywhere. Just because they were citizens didn't mean they weren't unfamiliar with them.

Then he spoke, which was unusual, because he tried to avoid talking while flying if at all possible.

"It happened all the time."

"Deidara…"

"It was a Jew-baby. Just an animal to some Hitler Youth somewhere. You could tell it was a child who shot the child, yes. The aim was terrible, but the death was still quick for one so small."

"Why?"

"It is reality, _Liebchien._ It happens all the time, here. An example to the citizens, probably. I don't know, I was not there." He almost tried to turn around and look at her, but he kept his attention on steering the plane. "Stop! You must not cry!"

She was sobbing again and didn't even care. "A _baby,_ Deidara." She paused, sniffled hopelessly. "And tell me what that _damn_ word means. The one that you always call me. I mean it this time."

He sighed, looked out the window, made a sharp right turn.

"I think in English it means…just something nice to call someone."

"…A friend?"

"No, a little more than a friend. _Ja…"_

The cockpit was insufferably silent for a good five minutes, but then,

"So what will I see in Auschwitz? Will there be more…things like that?"

"Probably, _Liebchien._ They are much more bad in there, yes. Some SS members have been in there so long, they have forgotten what people look like who are not hungry and thin. Some are in uniform, and others in rags, but they are all thinking the same thing. They all want to escape. When we get there, you must not speak a word, do you understand this?"

Sakura nodded slowly.

"If they know who you are, you will have lots of trouble. They will not be like Hidan and the Colonel, you see. There is real hate in this place. It could kill you. I will talk, and you will be a good, quiet, German wife for me, for now. Walk a little behind me and look at the floor ahead of you. Do not make eye contact. And we should make a bonnet for you; you must hide that hair."

"Don't want anyone to recognize it, huh?"

Deidara nodded and coughed off to the side, sneezed twice, and looked back to the horizon.

"I hope no one recognizes me either, _Liebchien."_

With that enigmatic remark, the plane sped up and poked over the cold winter clouds. The sun was setting, but Sakura felt like their troubles had only just begun.

* * *


	9. Work Makes You Free

**A/N:** _Arbeit Macht Frei._ Hey, who's reading this thing? Come on, really. Also, I would like to say hello to Cynchick, who told me to finish this chapter so she would update Vertigo sooner. Hello.

* * *

It was the whole usual deal at first, really. They landed the plane soon after they spotted Auschwitz (he landed it and she covered her eyes), Sakura insisted on folding up that quilt and lugging it along (he carried the thing half the way), and they backtracked through the woods (he cursed with frustration when they lost their way, and she punched a tree and cried). Eventually they found a way out of the woods, but what solace was that? Now they didn't even know where the _plane_ was anymore.

As much as he hated to admit it, Deidara and the woman needed directions badly. And it was just their luck that several pillars of smoke led them to a nearby city, Oświęcim,Poland. The city seemed unusually subdued, even at this point of the war. Everyone ducked around doors and cellars more than usual, and every so often they would all pause and glance at white pillars of smoke coming from the south.

They stood together in the town square, he edgy in a stolen uniform and her awkward in a pair of borrowed boots and a covered-up nurse's dress. It wasn't much for a city, but in tremendous shape compared to the last place they'd been. The buildings held traditional Polish charm, magnificent government buildings now in abandonment, and quaint houses painted every legal shade of pastel imaginable.

Strangely enough, it looked like a large portion of the town had been converted to house Nazi soldiers, to Deidara's chagrin. Said soldiers clung to alleys and windows like tan and black barnacles, smoking up a storm and some holding two or three women apiece.. Well, they sure didn't know what they were missing, that was for sure.

The men watched him with bored, watery eyes, Sakura held in special attention for those lacking in females. She stared back for a while, her eyes trained on the trail of cigarette smoke, reminding Deidara of a cat watching snow for the first time. It would single out a snowflake high in the sky, follow its progress to the ground below, watch it for a moment to make sure the snowflake wasn't going anywhere, and then pick out another flake and repeat the process until the cat was bored or covered in snowflakes.

Well, and that was enough of that.

He took hold of her hand and pulled her blindly through the sparsely populated streets, trying to find an inn. If Auschwitz chose to evade them for now, then that was all right. They were at least going to find somewhere to stay. Even this far in occupation, there would still be an inn in working order, and the pack of cigarettes discovered in the uniform pocket—they were pure gold in times like this—assured him they would get a room, if anything.

Looking back at the girl, who, in spite of the deathly serious situation, looked faintly amused at the little city, especially pleased when an old woman flashed her a friendly, toothless grin while she wiped her hands on a filthy apron.

It was unusual, such a level of silence, but then again, he had told her to stay quiet. At least that much had penetrated her thick head.

"Woman," he called to her loudly in German, hoping she wouldn't do something stupid. "We need to find an inn soon, okay? It's getting dark, and I don't want to put the baby in danger or something, yeah."

She blinked at him, confused, and then lowered her head and nodded slowly, biting her lip and glancing from side to side, like a cornered animal. It wasn't for her ears, anyway. And the old woman from before caught on easily and rushed over to them as they turned the corner into another street, like she'd done this a million times before. Probably had, in all reality.

She huffed for breath before the two, and Sakura edged back behind Deidara a little, blushing and looking away. There was nothing like a culture gap to make a person feel awkward and stranded; he knew that without a doubt.

"Sir," the woman panted boldly. "I myself know of an excellent place to stay. They have nice, big rooms, and room service all the times of day, and each room has its own lovely toilet. It even looks onto the lovely scenery, all that snow. It is at the very edge of the city."

She took hold of Deidara's arm tightly.

"But—oh. Oh, dear me," she let go slowly and turned away. "I seem to have forgotten where they are, exactly…oh, dear."

Deidara almost laughed out loud. Even in the squalor of poverty, this frail woman still found room to do business. It was a good thing he'd had plenty of experience with this breed before, or perhaps they might end up staying in the plane, if things went badly. Well, if they could find it.

"You know," Deidara said slyly, "I've often heard that Polish ladies like a smoke every now and then. Am I right?"

He produced the box from the inner recesses of the jacket and shook out a single, white stick, dangling it in front of the woman like a fish on a hook. She snatched the bait with a greedy hand and lit it quickly from a spare match in her pocket. Apparently this wasn't an unusual circumstance.

"You heard right, good sir." She puffed out heavy clouds of the tobacco in his face. "But for all your kindness, I simply cannot remember the name of that inn, for the life of me…my, what a beautiful quilt. I had one like that when I got married, you know."

_So that's what she wants. _

"It is," Deidara agreed softly. Sakura stared up at him mournfully, skillfully interpreting his look and the lustful stare of the Pole on the yards of exquisite handiwork. She walked up to the woman and proffered the blanket slowly, backing away to hide behind Deidara totally as the woman pulled at the stitching judgmentally and ran her hands along a swan's neck.

"Nice, nice, very nice," she repeated, suddenly brightening up. "And I remember, now. It was the Gossamer, along the west edge of the city, that way." She pointed. "You tell them Agata sent you, and they will give you a nice room, especially if you happen to discover that Polish gentlemen enjoy a smoke also."

With little more than a nod, the woman turned and scurried back into her house, puffing on the cigarette the whole way and balancing the quilt on her plump stomach. And then there was nothing to do but hurry through alleys and back ways in a westerly direction, because it was starting to snow heavily, now, and there really wasn't much else to do.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to find. The Gossamer was right where the woman said it was, at the far end of the west part of the city. The tallest building in its area, this one was painted a soft yellow and had a black, black roof that looked recently cleaned, a good sign. The soldiers leeching around weren't exactly a welcome sight, but you didn't get everything you asked for.

He ignored the demands for updates on the front, and rushed Sakura to the front desk, where a tired deskman read a two-year-old newspaper, and wordlessly handed them a key after Deidara courteously offered the man twenty-four American-made cigarettes.

Bribery really was all it cracked up to be.

And the room was a pleasant surprise, despite the layer of dust on everything and a suspicious spot in the corner. The bed was made, the shades were drawn, the lamp was on, and a schedule lay on the bed, announcing the next day's meals.

Sakura picked up the pamphlet gleefully, breezing over it and running her fingers over the roughness of the paper.

"What do these say, Deidara?"

She threw the paper at him and then made a running leap for the bed, planting herself firmly in the middle and stared at him modestly.

"It says…breakfast at seven," he read. "Lunch at one, and dinner is extra twenty-five cents, American money, or you can pay with grenades."

"Grenades?"

"Yes. Also, if you make messes in the rooms, you must clean it first yourself, and then ask for help. They do not like to be bothered."

"That's some lame room service."

"You can pay someone to give you a tour of the city," he continued, squinting. "They will take you and show you places. Probably now they might show you the ghetto."

"What's the ghetto?"

"They used to have Jews there, but I do not think there are many left, yes. Most went to the camps."

"Let's go! I've never seen a ghetto before."

She rolled off the bed and skittered to his side as he set the schedule down on the nightstand.

"Let's go," she repeated. "I want to see what it is."

"You do not want to see a bunch of starving people, _Liebchen._ It is not so great."

"I want to go. Take me there!"

"Okay," he finally relented. "But it is not my fault if you do not like it."

Why was she so difficult? And so unpredictable... He never knew what to expect from her; her mood changed in a split second, and he predicted that if he didn't just give up and take her there, that she'd find a way to go anyway, and then a rescue mission would be in order.

And so, avoiding a scene became infinitesimally more important than avoiding uncomfortable encounters. Deidara sighed and jerked the girl out of the room by her elbow. He really hoped he wouldn't regret this.

They didn't go on a tour after all, since Deidara decided it was too expensive (the truth was they didn't really have any money), and just walked there on foot instead. Now that he thought of it, there probably wasn't a tour at all; those booklets were most likely from a mass production before the war, and highly subject to change in times like this.

Sakura glanced over at her companion—bored, hands in pockets lethargically—and looked back at the road. She wished now that she hadn't acted like such a child. Curiosity killed the Sakura.

"You know," she began slowly, stuffing her icy hands under her arms. "We don't have to go if you don't want to. I mean, it's okay if we don't go look. I'll be fine."

He snorted and snatched her elbow, pulling until he had a hold of her hand. He scrutinized the white fingers as they walked through the dirty snow, released her suddenly, and stopped before a great, wooden fence.

"And you wanted to come, so here it is. _Marvel_ at it," he added the last bit sarcastically.

A gusty wind blew through the dark alley leading into the recesses of the ghetto, a dank, looming place with a stench so pungent you almost couldn't detect it. The fence was crooked and creaky, the timber rotted and shivery. Blemishes littered it here and there, holes about the size of a rifle bullet.

Deidara put his hand on the small of her back and shoved her towards the largest hole, and she looked back questioningly. Were they going to go inside it, or just peer from the outside?

"I am not putting one foot farther, so go have your look, _mädchen."_ He stepped back and watched her with crossed arms.

So Sakura picked her way through the scraps of rubble littering the fence-line, leaned over as far as her common sense allowed, and peered inside. Almost immediately, a lurking dog from somewhere in the blackness thrust itself madly at her invading eye.

Shrieking, she fell to the ground in her fright, scrambling wildly to get away from the beast. It was starving, losing hair, and probably half its normal size, but the intensity of the message was tangibly readable.

Rough fabric wrinkled painfully when she gripped the sides of her jacket with fear, and she screwed her eyes as shut as they could go, focusing on the pain behind the sockets rather than the gunshot and the horrible cry.

Deidara found her standing there and said nothing, only threw his gun over his shoulders and pulled her along by her hand once more.

"Rabies," he said awkwardly, some time later. He repeatedly looked at her, then at her hands.

"I—"

"We should not have come," he barked harshly. "I told you we should not have come. But do you listen? No, never. Look, there is a tavern. A drink will make you feel better, yes."

And sure enough, there was a blue-trimmed shop on the right side, certainly not looking the part, but if Deidara thought it was a tavern, well, then that was fine. Maybe he just wanted her out of the snow. Most likely the drink was for _his_ benefit, since there was no way in hell she was going to drink anything in this place.

A last murmured order of silence was the prelude to their grand entrance within the innocent cottage, and when the spots cleared from her eyes Sakura saw a newspaper propped open at a counter, and two men talking loudly in the corner, who left in a hurry shortly afterwards.

The newspaper rustled and slowly lowered to reveal a young man in his mid thirties, wearing a fedora stuffed down on the top of his head. Deidara jabbered something in German—or Polish, if there was such a thing—to the man, who jabbered back, and when a glint appeared in the men's eyes, Sakura resigned herself to several hours of boredom.

Back in the camp, when the guys started looking like that, they—oh. Where _were_ they…?

Firm hands grabbed her arm again and sat her down at a table. The German sat next to her, with the Pole directly ahead. The man stared at her intently, and Sakura, lost in her own nostalgia, lost the grace to blush and look elsewhere, only stared back blankly.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but not exactly warming, either. The man broke contact with her and slipped back behind his countertop, reaching underneath and producing two brown bottles. Well, and it seemed she wouldn't have the opportunity to refuse it after all.

Deidara took a bottle, and waited until the man had reseated himself to pop open the top and take a drink, ignoring the reproachful look Sakura shot him over her shoulder.

The men began to talk in low, common tones, and she let herself drift away to the past as they consulted.

'_Hey, Sakura, you'd better watch out for that skirt; it might fly up when you least expect it to.'_

'_Yeah, if there were any winds around. Or maybe any curious European boys.'_

'_Oh, stop it, you two. Come here and let me smack you for that.'_

It wasn't a connection out of some sorts of amorous affairs, or even a life-changing encounter. It was simply a bond over time, forming bit by bit with pieces of memories connecting into something marvelous in the end.

Maybe it was the first day when she realized she felt at home with these people. She stepped off the carrier with the other nurses, trembling and nervous, standing stock still and allowing the sign around her neck to lead her to a destination.

A man approached her—she mistook his white hair as that of an elderly man, at first—and asked if she was Sakura Haruno. She said she was, they jotted something down on a paper, hurried her off to a holding area, and that was the last of her relative peace for a long while.

Hours later the same man returned, brushing aside the demanding crowds of poverty-stricken civilians begging for this young nurse's attention, took her by the elbow, and led her to a battered ambulance.

Inside, they shared what pleasant conversation was possible over the groans of shell-shocked young men, and she found out his name—Kakashi—his occupation—English teacher turned American Captain—and a bit about him, that he liked dogs and had a daughter at home, but no wife.

In turn, he learned a little about her, that she liked to cook, loved a clean house, and wanted to go to college to complete a PhD as a pediatrician. There really wasn't much else to say (common ground being nonexistent at this point), and the rest of the ride consisted of them trying not to fly clear out the back of the ambulance, so serenaded by Brooklyn cursing from the driver in his plight to dodge potholes and tiger teeth, as it were, and the persistent chorus of groaning.

The ambulance bumbled to a halt in a thickly wooded area, and Kakashi, Sakura, and the source of the painful cries deposited themselves on a grassy strip before the stiffness of the campground. Kakashi propped up the young man by the shoulders as the two waited patiently for Sakura to find a bush to throw up her lunch in.

As they strolled into camp, the captain, calm and suave compared to her stumbling shyness, she looked closer at the younger man, trying to assess his situation; it looked like he might be her first patient on the field.

It wouldn't turn out to be one-sided, though, when the boy lifted his pale face to stare back into hers. He had messy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes—bluer than Deidara's by far—and his teeth were beautifully white and straight. A good impression, comforting by her expectations, but then he had to open his big mouth and let loose _the_ most lewd comment she had ever heard in her life. Even Captain Kakashi had cringed at that one.

All of her strength suddenly gathered up in her fists, and she dropped her supplies and threw a punch at that ungrateful bastard, only to be snatched from behind by some unidentifiable grip. Even now she didn't know who that was—she suspected Genma; it figured he would be skulking about to see the new nurse—but she was glad now that she'd been stopped. If something had happened to Naruto… Well, she was lucky Genma was there.

After things were cleared up (and onlookers cleared out), she got her first patient, first dazed and now love-struck, in her caring hands. This would be the only time he would ever sit still for anything medical. She should've relished and beheld at how easy it was to dimple his skin with the tip of a hypodermic needle, how quickly the mandatory checkup went, and how early he went to bed, of all things.

And that was the first day.

Strange, how he came to her mind now more than anyone. Sakura sighed as she watched a small cat attempt to pick its way through the deepening drifts of snowflakes outside the house, and drifted away again, sometime later, maybe by a couple months.

It was Kakashi in for jaundice again, and no matter how many times he insisted it was a weakness from birth, he never could argue with his full force when she waved the telltale wine bottles in front of his face, confiscated from his mattress.

That day was when Kakashi earned her love, and Naruto, too.

She gave him a little something to help him sleep, but he ended up talking. He talked about his life before the war, about his father who drank himself to death after attempting to defend his Communist friend from exile, his nonexistent mother, his best friend, who pushed him from the path of a wandering battalion of German soldiers and was taken to a camp, and a young nurse who stole his heart before disappearing with an Italian later on.

_She looked a lot like you, Sakura. Pretty, young, and damn smart, too. I wish I would've told her. I just wish I would've told her…_

Relating with him became easy after that.

He talked about Naruto, too. His orphaned life filled with lonely swings and no love, the all-smiles Army recruiter who finally brought hope and value to his despairing life, his unlikely friendship to a boy from a well-known family fallen from grace, that same boy's vicious attack on him when Naruto tried to stop him from deserting, and his love for a savagely compassionate nurse with pink hair and a passion for hot tea.

Sakura blushed, remembering it. Just a little.

She saw his face that day, when Kakashi pulled the mask down to reach over and give her a kiss, right smack on the lips. Fortunately, the injection caught up with him halfway, and the poor man passed out cold, leaning precariously on the edge of the cot.

There was just enough time to re-roll him back over to patient position before wicked chuckles sounded from the tent entrance, and she looked back at Kiba's snickering face and Neji's pallid composure.

Ignoring them coolly, of course, did nothing to halt the spread of rumors, and an ashamed Kakashi painstakingly went around to everyone he could, pleadingly explaining to them that Sakura was definitely _not_ a naughty-nurse-who's-been-around-the-bunks. It was then, of course, that she realized someone cared.

Because what would it matter to _him_ if rumors abounded that he'd deflowered the undeflowerable beauty? And she noticed that he spent an unusual amount of time in Kiba's tent after she explained to him exactly what went on after the injection, or, rather, what _didn't_ go on.

A sweet friendship brought her and Naruto close together, and after that there was rarely a time when one was where the other wasn't. She smiled to think of his many advances on her, some serious (but still a little laughable, unfortunately), and most comical on purpose. The former were a bit awkward, and usually in front of an audience, but the latter seemed more private, and Sakura didn't mind admitting to herself that she quite enjoyed them more.

After that, things were surprisingly normal, for a wartime base camp. Battles and deaths came and went, but those were expected. Marriage proposals and goosings popped up here and there, but those were maddeningly familiar. Overall, it wasn't a bad time, what with what she'd been hearing from other duty nurses.

That last day, though, was the worst. The message came from 'the top' to move out quickly, that by the time they'd get the letter the war may have been lost. Get to the Belgian Ardennes immediately, and be ready for heavy battle.

They left her behind to 'watch things,' they said, but Sakura sensed an uneasy feeling about them. Perhaps they knew that something would happen to them, a bloody premonition of things to come. That was silly, though, because why would they go? Well, of course they had to… Probably all sitting around a fire somewhere, surrounded by thousands of dead Nazis. They couldn't have lost, not with so many of them.

That last day, Naruto gave her a kiss. Nothing out of a satin-and-silk romance, just a sweet peck on the lips, and then he was gone, but not without throwing her one last, smirking smile at her before he dashed off with the others, and the flaps billowed inward on the empty canvas, hinting a coming winter storm.

A thump against the window jolted Sakura out of her reverie, and she drew inwards on herself, imagining a crow with a broken neck rapidly disappearing under the ice and wind.

The man's bottle was empty now, and he fetched another from his place under the counter, this time bringing the newspaper along with him. The type was uneven and blotted with stray ink—illegal newspaper, she thought to herself—and the date made her blink with surprise.

Deidara took the paper gingerly from the man, who paused in his drinking to tug down his hat once more. The blond stared at the front page, then at the man, oblivious to the stares, and then—slowly—to Sakura.

Wordlessly, he refolded the paper along a barely visible original crease and passed it to her, reengaging the vain man with something this or that, waving the bottle animatedly and smirking about something, while Sakura hunched over and eyed the yellowing publication with growing disease.

She couldn't read the foreign, rigid headline, but she could make out the photo, black and white, grainy, but visible in its subject, bodies upon hundreds, spread out in a barren, icy field like flowers torn from the earth but then hastily returned.

She couldn't see the faces, or even discern the blood from skin, but she could see a rectangular patch on each man's uniform, various shades of grays masking the telltale red, white, and blue. And below the picture, a single word: Ardennes.

The window didn't shield her from the coldness of the world outside, it merely provided a barrier that meant, somewhere inside your head, that you were here and not there. But you still feel the cold on both sides.

First ten flakes, then fifty, and then blankets of soft, puffy flakes littered the ground, a reminder to all that the winter was certainly not over. Sakura sat poised on the edge of the chair, still and tight-lipped, watching the flakes fall one by one. Slowly, she reached for the bottle Deidara held in hand.

It was Christmas Eve.

* * *


	10. Just the Way You Look Tonight

**A/N:** Sorry I'm so _unforgivably_ late, but my house burned down, I got pregnant, and a brand spanking new yellow Corvette convertible ran me down going 300 mph. So don't hate me. I love your reviews. _Love_ them.

* * *

Deidara shifted the weight on his shoulder, trying vainly to keep his arm from falling asleep. The weight mumbled something in English and beat a weak rhythm on his mid-back with tiny fists.

It was just starting to flurry, he noticed as he looked skyward, and he picked up his pace a little, high-stepping through the old snow determinedly. If he had known the girl was this intolerant of alcohol, none of it would be happening. But, then again, he hadn't been prepared for her snatching the bottle from his hand, scarfing half of it down, pausing to choke and sputter, and then inhaling the rest while he sat gaping at her stupidly.

"Deidara?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you wearing underwear right now?"

"Mmm."

Most of the trudge back from the little shop consisted of little, nonsensical conversation fragments like that. It was just as good, because he'd known much more annoying drunken habits than this.

Again, he sped up, trying for a cautious trot. He needed to get that medicine in the plane before too soon; he certainly didn't want a feverish, babbling nurse on his hands. It would be so terribly…boring. Well, and it would be bad if something happened to her, of course. Deidara had a conscience, after all. A very, very small one, but it was there all the same.

The town must've been quite used to strange sights. No one had given him a passing glance, a German in a stolen uniform lugging about a blushing girl in a who-knows-what habiliment. Then again, it was easier to get out that way, and, in fact, an SS officer even gave him a thumbs-up. Well, that was just like Hitler's ilk, to totally disregard the safety of a young girl. To hell with them.

"Mmmph. Deidaaara?"

"Mmm?"

"Where are we going?"

"The plane."

"But…why? I dunno how to fly a plane. No…"

"I am going to get you medicine for your head."

"Okay."

"Mmm."

"…Deidara?"

"Mmm?"

"Where are we going?"

There it was! The treeline crept closer and closer, taunting Deidara with flashes of metallic sheen, glinting off the winter sun. And here he'd thought he might spend hours and hours searching for the thing. One small detail easy to forget when hiding a large, clanking object was that to hide it well often meant hiding it from yourself. That getting-lost ordeal in the forest still wasn't out of his mind just yet.

Trying to ignore the pressing sensation of delicate hands squeezing his posterior like it was the last piece of ass in the whole world, he stumbled over roots to the Lockheed, using the left wing to balance the extra weight, which wasn't helping matters by slowly licking his neck.

"Stop it," he growled, and flipped Sakura over on the wing. She lay there calmly, stroking the icy metal with a hand, quiet for now. The plane was surely freezing to the touch, and Deidara worried incessantly over hypothermiza, or whatever it was called, as he pried open the cockpit windows with gloved hands.

He stopped, looked back at Sakura, then at his hands. Wordlessly he removed the thin pilot gloves and crawled to her, took a wrist in hand, and slipped the glove over soft calluses. She smiled at him with hazy eyes and rubbed the soft leather with her naked hand. He took her other wrist and did the same, inviting himself to feel the thin, membranous skin below her palm with a rough thumb. It was rapidly cooling.

The back of her coat clung to the wing a little when Deidara took Sakura by the waist, bracing himself at uncertain heights as he crept towards the opening, praying that Lockheed had designed the plane well enough to stand a little extra burden at this temperature.

Leaning against the thin beams, he gently dumped the girl in the cockpit seat, where she immediately began to press buttons, at least until he snapped at her irritably and replaced them to their proper settings.

"I am coming in now. Move it, _Liebchen."_

"Huh?"

Feet first, planted on the edge of the seat, and then the rest of his torso, in a rather uncomfortable, cramped manner. But with some prodding here and there, he returned them to their usual: both facing the front, with her perched on top. Although she usually wasn't struggling to turn around in normal circumstances.

An icy breeze moved him to shut the window, and he plopped back down and sighed before reaching a hand behind him, trying to single out the canister in the gloom. The sun was setting fast, so he'd sit and watch her take the pill, and then they could leave. That was it.

Sakura had other plans, however, and began to rock back and forth on his lap.

"_Stop_ it," he warned, pill bottle finally in hand. He braced hands on her chest, but pulled them back as if burned when Sakura stilled and stared at them intently. His face burned with lost intention.

"I was not—"

"'S okay."

She took up his hands and replaced them, bracing her own, covered hands on his shoulders and shifting from side to side in his lap, pressing down into his waist insistently. She paused swiftly to remove the gloves, and shoved them into his shirt. Deidara shivered and slid his hands down to her waist, a part of him wondering if this was another dream and the rest unconcerned at this point. He might regret it later, but later was a ways away.

The pill container dropped into his jacket, forgotten; his hands roamed upwards again, holding her face softly, running cold fingertips over her peach-soft cheeks, and he felt her smile underneath her skin. She brought her hands up to his hair and twisted strands of it idly, waiting with that smile. Why did she have to smile like that?

He closed his eyes and kissed her. He didn't want to look at that smile. The girl responded just as he expected, and as if from a haze, he felt her lean in to him, her inexperience terribly evident, and her jacket flew to the floor and the thin shirt underneath lost a button on its way to the instrument panel.

They kissed again feverishly, and he put his hand behind him, on the window above, trying to find something solid. She clung to him as though desperate and cried out softly, something he couldn't recognize, and he pushed her skirt up, discovering after a confused moment that her tights were already tossed somewhere in the darkness.

It wouldn't be romantic, but at least he wasn't expecting anything of the sort. Deidara pressed the girl to him roughly with one arm, wriggling out of passionate grasping to struggle out of restricting pants, just as much room as he would need. This wouldn't be a mawkish display, and there was no reason to pretend; it would all be very straightforward, because that was the way it always happened.

Solemnly feeling for direction with one hand, Deidara used the other to guide her waist, and then used both to return her embrace following a strangled cry.

He let her lead as much as possible, allowing her to stop for breath every time she choked on a sob, and then started up a halting pace again. Little bruises from her nails through his jacket started to form on his shoulder, but he ignored them, tried to ignore the sounds she made; they were so pained, and almost sad. It was even sadder that, despite it all, he thought he might even love her.

It was over very quickly, and Sakura sank forward, exhausted and trembling with her fatigue. One last time, Deidara pulled her towards him and kissed her softly, not entirely surprised to find she was already asleep.

Methodically, he gathered her clothes and replaced them slowly, wondering to himself if he was trying to erase what had happened with a simple brushing off. It wouldn't be that easy, and there was no way she wouldn't know tomorrow morning. But later was a ways off.

He replaced his own clothing as slowly as possible, even though he knew she wouldn't wake, patted the pocket with the pills, now past their purpose, and watched the storm pass over. Brilliant flakes covered the little squares of struggling light overhead until everything reflected the glow of the new snow, but Deidara felt smothered underneath their covering.

* * *

When she awoke, Sakura found herself in quite a predicament. After jerking awake in the hotel room, wearing nothing but her old, ratty underwear and a light shift, the first thing she'd felt was an ache below her waist, a pounding sensation somewhere between her ears, and then an overpowering surge of nausea.

She stumbled into the bathroom, drawing her feet back in discomfort at the freezing marble before dropping to her knees and depositing her dinner from last night, and then all that came up was bile, again and again. The pain in the back of her head was excruciating, and all she could think of was desperation, wanting it to go away but not comprehending a means.

Stumbling back with a sway of delirium, Sakura sunk to the floor on hands and knees, and lay there, panting. She stared at the floor, mesmerized with patterns in the stone she'd never noticed before. In some places, it would be smooth and clear as glass, and in others, a starburst of soft cracks littered an area with an array of pinks and grays.

Her hands appeared a pale white against the ruddy pink and dirty white stone slab, and she lifted one, trembling, to her face. Crisscrossing scars lightly blemished the surface of her palm, and she saw calluses that had never been there before, and the skin itself was mottled, a symptom of extreme dehydration.

An overpowering thirst drove her in a mad dash to the sink, where she turned on the faucet and scooped up handfuls of water, drinking and drinking until her stomach felt likely to burst from the pressure. But the headache lingered, so she crawled back into the bedroom and collapsed, exhausted, on the oval rug in the center of the dark room.

"Sakura."

There was a petite, extravagantly furnished fireplace in the center of the wall opposite the bed, and Sakura stared at it with half-lidded eyes. The mantle was some manner of dull, black metal, and carvings of birds and abstract designs embossed the whole of it. The dark shadows and the shifting of the curtains made the fowl nearly come to life. Sakura thought for a moment that, given a chance and a cracked window, the birds might fly away forever.

A heron grasped a struggling frog from a still pond in the lower left corner, just like the one in her lost quilt, and in the upper right corner, a large bird of prey cried out warning over a grassy crag. Between them, there were sparrows and merry larks of sort, but the artist clearly intended focus upon these two creatures, unalike in nearly every way.

The heron sported sleek, even feathers, and even in the hunt its every move was graceful and soft, but the osprey…hard, pointed feathers jutted out askew from a threatening profile, and wicked claws dug into the rock below.

But if you looked at it just right, the two seemed to appraise one another quietly, content with their separate worlds but wary of the space in between, where unimportant, phantasmal shapes flew among the trees, ignorant to the tension, the potential for friction.

Their struggle forever etched in coated masonry, they seemed to look right into her face, and when Sakura pushed up to perch precariously on her shins, she saw that their eyes had followed her even there. Now she felt a different set of eyes on her, and their gaze filled her stomach with careful fear.

"_Sakura."_

"You didn't even _ask_ me," she began to cry softly, blankly regarding lifeless, iron stares.

"I cannot be ashamed. There is nothing I can do."

It was so simple, so cold and stiff. For a moment their understanding of what had happened captivated her; it was a rare instance where the both of them comprehended the other perfectly. She had no memory of it, while he did, but she knew nevertheless.

"I didn't want it. I _hate_ you."

"I know. I am sorry for it."

"That doesn't matter. You can say all you want, but you can't take it away. You _ruined_ me, you horrible, _evil_ Nazi!"

An angry pause, colored with Sakura's panting, a creak of bedsprings, and then light, careful footsteps heading towards her. She braced herself for a slap, but the placating hand on her spine caught her by surprise. He didn't say anything, just breathed.

"Deidara?"

Just silence. Was he angry?

"You said my name before…what did you want?"

"Oh," he sounded relieved. "I was just wondering…if you want me to get something for you to eat. You should not—_lieb_—they have toast down the stairs. I asked them."

It was so out of place, so terrifyingly ironic, that she had to laugh. She laughed so loud he probably thought she was crazy, but that was all right. She probably was, after all that had happened since December sixteenth, when everything happened to bring her where she was today.

Here she thought this crazy German was about to slap her in the face, and probably take advantage of her again for good measure, and he offered her room service. To say it turned her upside down would be hackneyed, not to mention halfway presented.

She looked at him in the face, really looked at him, and for the first time in what was probably days, what she saw quieted her.

Deidara stood to her left, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a childish display of awkwardness. His head shifted from side to side with the slight motion, and when she looked into his eyes, he quickly averted them, evidently enthralled with the dark patterns of the floor tapestries.

Biting his lip, he scrunched up his nose and his mouth widened out into a discontented grimace. Not yet in the prime of his adulthood, the action revealed the roundness to his cheeks, but Sakura could see the promise of a very handsome man when he grew into them.

His hair, she saw, had been unevenly hacked off again, brushing the bottoms of his ears in all manner of angles and skewed ends. She remembered the scissors hidden in a pocket of her coat, hoped they had not gone dull in disuse.

"Do you want it?" His nervousness won out, evident by a faint tone of fretfulness.

Then he paused, blinking at the sound of his own voice, harsh and grating in the silence of the caliginous room.

"Want…some food? Well, I guess I do…please, yes."

The sound of her own voice seemed to relieve him, and seemed to have pulled him back from some faraway place.

"Yes," he interrupted her abruptly. "I…I will go get it. You stay here, okay?"

"Okay."

He left in a rush, leaving her with an odd feeling in her chest and a small gust of wind. Seeing nothing to do with herself, Sakura slowly approached the bed on the window side and sat serenely, stroking the plain quilt top and casting her gaze out the paned glass.

Whoever had decorated this room had a fondness for birds, notably the partnership between the osprey and the heron. It was almost uncanny, how the osprey had followed her so far to this place, and the cast heron gave her a sense of comfort after losing the cloth one not even a day ago.

It was hard to explain what they meant to her, but they were there nevertheless. Were they waiting for her to understand why? Was there anything to understand at all?

There was Deidara, the German, the sniper, the Nazi. But which one was he really, if any at all? She knew she didn't love him, couldn't—it would hardly be proper—but he remained a powerful force in her life, an enigma, a boy, really, in the inner recesses of his heart. Sakura knew that the kind of forgiveness for what he did to her came slowly, but for his sake she was willing to wait.

The spiritless, blank countenance that so often dominated his features was difficult to pass over her feelings. By her very nature, and the experience she had gained in working for the Army, she remained dutiful to her compassion in every turn, cried when a sparrow fell to the earth.

Maybe she could offer a peace to him as her gift; she certainly had nothing of value on her person. She wouldn't tell him, a stinging pride still refused to grant him any amnesty, but maybe she could change just a bit, just to show him that not everyone in the world hated the very sight of him.

She folded her hands in her lap and listened to the flutter of the Christmas snow as it shrouded all the world with its pure whiteness.

* * *

Thankfully, the toast and venison sausage were easy to come by and the weight of it fairly shocked him, but the nice women in the kitchen seemed hell-bent on making him and his "darling little wife" just as happy as could be.

And that was all right. Sakura would need the food after… He set his chin and stomped up the narrow staircase. He had _wanted_ her, but it hadn't been real. The thing was disconnected and empty, and he remembered the burning taste of the hard alcohol on her tongue. It made him angry to think about it.

She was so innocent, and he so worldly. He had seen everything and more, while she had been restricted to simple battle aftermath, and whatever had gone on in that fool American city she came from. But now she seemed tainted by whatever wisdom he had so carelessly bestowed her with.

There was no irony to the situation, because he knew that he had wanted her from the very beginning. So the eventual physical contact had been inevitable, in his perspective. The lack of an emotional connection, however, wore on him more and more as time passed. He _wanted_ her to want _him._ He wanted to tell her he loved her and not feel a burning shame when she turned from him, embarrassed at his presence.

The stairs creaked mournfully under his boots as he reached the top and slouched down the long, dimly lit hallway. He held a plate in each hand, one covered in large sections of wrapped sausage, and the other four slices of suspicious-looking bread, with a thin spread of fruit jam on each. This, at least, might placate the girl long enough to talk, or at least sit in relatively contented silence.

When he got to the door, Deidara lowered a plate to the floor before slipping in, not entirely sure if a knock would produce any assistance from the resident within. He stopped on the rug, peering at her from behind as she gazed out the window from the bed; wondering what had captured her attention so completely.

He slowly walked around the footboard and passed quickly in front of her, hoping to avoid any further bantering, and then sat on edge of the bed beside her, but still a distance away. Distance just enough for two plates of food, anyway. They sat, motionless, for a while, in silence, watching the snow fall.

Deidara had always thought of wind chimes whenever he saw a winter blizzard like this at the farm. The first thing he always saw when he ran up to the front porch from his father's departing Chevrolet was his grandmother's wind chimes.

There were so many of them that it nearly sent his young mind into a frenzy trying to look at all of them at once. One was shaped like a cat whose legs and tail was painted, dangling bells that, when slapped together by small hands belonging to a healthy imagination, sounded not unlike a pleading meow. Another was an old hanger decorated with old, rusty keys clinging to the thin, metal rod by fraying sewing thread.

Deidara, as a child, always blushed with pride at the sight of that one, hung so prominently at the front and center of the overhang. That one his grandmother had led him make all by himself. She had even brought out her special key collection, the one that earned him a slap once or twice at the curiosity of his prying fingers, and let him pick whichever keys he wanted to string to her favorite hanger. It was uneven, and one of the keys was much rustier than all the rest, but his grandmother had assured him that it was the most beautiful of all her hangers by far.

Now, of course, he recognized that as a grandmother's bias, but at the time, it hadn't stopped him from dragging every visitor to the porch for an introduction by the artist himself. He smiled softly at the memory, a rare fond one, and turned to look at the girl beside him, smugly pleased to see that she was already eating the food that he had brought her.

A thousand years ago, he had talked to her in the shadow of their featherless flying machine, and a millions years ago he had asked her a question. He had asked her if she would ever think of staying with him, forever. She certainly wouldn't now, not after his mindless behavior.

But this girl…she sat on the quilt, barely denting the soft squares with her slight weight, bathed in blue light from the outside world. Her hair was soft and sleek, every strand in place, and still that awful shade of pink. She was so beautiful it almost made him want to abandon his art and write volumes and volumes of romantic poetry about her. Rather sad, really, in his opinion of himself.

She knew he was watching her. He could tell just by the way she hesitated to take a bite of her toast, a light blush coloring her cheeks while her eyes darted from the window to her food, repeatedly, in a nervous fashion. He wasn't shy to admit that this kind of virginal behavior attracted her to him; it was the thing that had captured his attentions in the first place.

After his recruiting, he was around any breed of lascivious women, who would do anything at all for some cash, or, more commonly, cigarettes. They would tell a man they loved him, they would beg and cry if you asked them to, all for a hefty fee. That was his life.

But _this_ girl…how long had it been since he had seen a woman blush at anything? He shifted on the quilt top, drew a leg up to his chest, and braced it against folded hands. For a few minutes more, he continued to watch her eat, fumble with her food against his persistent stare, and dart her eyes up to meet his own periodically before returning to her food with discomforted rapidity.

When she finished, finally, leaving the bulk of the meal to his own disposal, he relaxed enough to kick off his boots and sit cross-legged across from her, chin in hand, still shamelessly peering at the flustered girl.

"Um, you can have the rest," she quietly ventured. Slowly, she pushed the plates his way, eyes glued to the hobnailed footwear in an ungainly pile below the side frames.

He tucked into the meal ravenously, polishing the rest off in a rather impolite manner for eating in front of a lady, but not wasn't exactly the time for manners and suavity.

"Is there anything else you want?" He asked her with a mouthful of nearly dry toast.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

"Well, some water would be nice, but I'll go get that from the sink."

And she did. He observed her venture from his stagnant position, slightly amused at her attempts at drinking from the faucet. At first, she tried to cup it in her hands and drink, but after a while, she all but attached her mouth to the faucet and choked the stuff down by the pint.

Deidara made a mental note to find some bottled water somewhere, if there was any, or at least boil some in the future, because there was no telling what sort of debris the water had picked up from the antique pipes down below. In fact, it was probably good to bring this to her attention. She certainly didn't look like she planned on slowing down any time soon.

"Sakura," he called sharply. "That water is dangerous, yes."

"I don't care. I'm thirsty."

He huffed and leered at her impatiently.

"Woman, you stop drinking that right now. You have no idea where that water came from."

She glared at him, but stopped drinking and shut off the handles.

"Well, if someone hadn't let me get drunk, maybe that wouldn't be a problem."

"Do not blame me for your impulses, woman. That was _your_ actions, not my own."

"Oh? And I suppose what happened later was all my doing also."

"Yes, it was."

She started, and then narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. Of course, he expected this, and in reality, he shouldn't have said anything at all, but it was true, wasn't it? She _had_ initiated the whole conduct.

"I don't believe you."

"That is fine," he felt a prickling in his throat when he watched her shoulders scrunch up, and then alarm at the sound of her crying, eerily familiar sounds.

"I don't _want_ to believe you. I _can't."_

Was her defiance all that she had left? In this strange country, with this strange man, wearing clothes that were not her own, it was dishearteningly plausible. It wasn't so bad for someone like him to cheat death at every turn, but it wasn't fair for her to be forced to do the same. She was far too innocent for such sudden conflict.

"That is fine," he whispered.

And then he pulled off his jacket and overshirt, opting to wear the simple tank top and pants in the privacy of the other's company. The pants were slightly uncomfortable, but there was no cause to alarm her again by taking them off. If she decided to dash out of the room, things might get confrontational downstairs.

She watched him mechanically remove his clothing before turning downcast eyes on her own attire, the plain nightgown gifted by the inn owner's wife. Appearing to be deep in thought, she walked towards the door—he stiffened—and turned the locks carefully into place.

Surprisingly, the next thing she did was crawl into the bed beside him and burrow under the covers.

"I'm tired," she yawned at him. "I'm going to sleep."

"When you wake up," his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "When you wake up, I will bring you some nice water, _ja?_ Something boiled, or something in a bottle. We can go back to the tavern if you behave yourself."

He turned to look at her, agitated at the rudeness of his words. But her small smile reassured his confidence, and he thanked heaven for this rare sport of longsuffering.

"I will. Just water this time." She sighed heavily, and looked up at him. He looked back out of the corner of his eye, still not comfortable with that stare.

"Deidara?"

"…Mmm?"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you. It wasn't very polite of me."

She was berating _herself_ for impoliteness? She deserved the opportunity to scream at him and pull his hair out, for God's sake. Where had all this humility sprang up from? He squirmed, wave upon wave of guilt threatening to strangle him for good. Maybe it would be better for her, then.

"I…I am sorry for—"

"Don't think about that."

There was a warning tone in her voice, and he appreciated it. But, no! She couldn't be better off. He knew as well as she did that he was her only way out of here, and what an adventure that would be. Tomorrow, he would tell her the news he discovered while she slept the morning away.

He still needed time to think _that_ particular revelation over, and she would need considerable time as well, once she realized that all this time had been—well, it was useless thinking about it now. Tomorrow, he would tell her everything. For now, she turned over and away from him, unseen thoughts darting through her head at unimaginable speeds. About him? Were they nice things? Oh, but maybe that was asking _too_ much.

Tomorrow, he would see if any of this had mattered at all.

"Merry Christmas, Deidara."

He smiled through the darkness.

* * *


	11. Two Sleepy People

**A/N:** I'm glad you're here, Sam. Here at the end of all things. /LOTR

It's been several months since I started this fic, and several weeks after my estimated date of completion. I'm so glad that I started this fic, because in doing so it abolished my perspective of the people who read fics in general. I found that this fic, more than any of my others, received the most encouraging and emotional reviews I've ever read, and for that I thank you kindly, those of you who took the time to read and then tell me directly what you thought of it. Thanks to everyone who gave an AU a second chance!

Thank you, lostinthought, for deciding the ending country. I was just waiting around for someone to give me a suggestion, really. Thank you bunches!

THANK YOU BETAS. Thank you for those late-night betas when I needed it _absolutely right then,_ and for betaing so speedy fast when I really didn't expect it to be done for hours. A special thank you to Fallacy for helping me with language and stuff when I needed it, and also when I thought I didn't need it.

And thank you, Mr. Jacks.

* * *

_21.06.1946_

_Clear skies, clear air, 23 Degrees Celsius_

_Well, I still can't find a thermometer with normal temperature on it. All they have here are these things with Celsius on them. But if I had to guess, I'd say it was around the mid seventies. Or maybe eighties. I really don't know._

_I couldn't find this journal for months, so I'm pretty bummed out that whatever happened in the time that passed will be hard for me to remember. Unless I write it down, it's gone. What happened in that Polish town, and after that, though, contains some very traumatic events, so at least I'll remember those. Unfortunately. I'm just glad that I don't have to keep this journal formally anymore, so I can really say what I want to say about stuff._

_Well, when I woke up on the 26__th__, Deidara had some more toast, and some bad news. You wouldn't believe it, but that officer guy from the camp had set us up! Deidara said he'd sent us on a wild goose chase so the guy could take my camp over and use it to rally the rest of the German troops in the battle. I mean, they must've had a radio, and a transmitter and everything from what we left behind._

_I'm not really surprised. I saw that look in the officer's eyes, and it was far from friendly. It was like every time he looked at me he wanted to kill me, but maybe he'd take his time with me first, if you know what I mean. I just shudder to think about it! Now that I do think about it, wouldn't it have been much simpler for Kakuzu (I remember it now! It's such a pointy name, just like the man.) to have just shot us on the spot? Really, what's with all the theatrics? I'm glad we got out alive, though, and I guess I wouldn't have got to know Deidara if I were dead in the snow._

_But mostly I feel sorry for Deidara. From what he's told me, his life has been depressing and disappointing, full of relentless people, and this could have been his chance to cover up his past with some sort of heroic act. He didn't support the Nazi cause, I knew that much, but he didn't support us, either. He's sort of in the middle ground, where the people are who want to care, but just don't. Doesn't that make any sense?_

_His grandmother was a Jew, but he doesn't feel the need to save all the Jews like I do, with my soft heart for the defenseless, and he was forced into a cause he despised, but he doesn't really hate them either, except for taking his grandmother away. It's selfish, but I don't like to think it's mean. I just think he's very confused, and lost. _

_But if he heard me saying that, well golly, he'd pinch his nose up and start babbling at me in that stupid German again. I've told him a million times I can't understand him, but he talks all the same. If you've ever heard two Germans talking, it's almost like they're yelling at each other constantly. But he just handles all the yelling on his own, and I kind of sit and stare at him until he's done. Then he would go out and stand outside, so I come out after him and hold his hand. I'm so glad that Americans aren't so weird like that, you know?_

_Well, after I ate that toast, Deidara went and made the news go from bad to worse. I really wish that he'd have waited for me to swallow._

_He showed me the letter, and it was blank. So maybe Kakuzu hoped that when we got to the death camp, if we ever found it, that we would be executed like everyone else. But maybe there really was a Mendelssohn there. I remember reading about a philosopher with that name, and he was a Jew. I think that's very interesting. Now that I think about it (again), I'm sure Deidara could've wormed his way out of it. By this time, the German army was in ruin, so some cigarettes could've made everything all right, right? These Europeans do love cigarettes. _

_Deidara doesn't smoke, though, because the one time he did, he gave me a kiss and it smelled so bad that I wouldn't go near him until all of that smell was gone. He went outdoors and fell in a stream when he was trying to wash his mouth out, the idiot (it was in March), and nearly got pneumonia again, just for a kiss. I don't understand this man. Maybe all Germans are like that, but I wouldn't know since he's the only one I know, generally._

_I guess I could talk about us, if I'm going to bring that up. I mean me and him. Well, after that thing in the plane and our big fight in the hotel room, (I was really scared of him, but I tried not to show it) he was just as sweet as a lamb, wouldn't you believe it. It was all Sakura this and Sakura that, and I was a little sad that he didn't call me "libchin" again, because it was kind of nice having a nickname that wasn't Girl or Hey You._

_But I didn't say anything at first, because we were starting over, and I didn't want to bring up something that might make stuff awkward. And I felt that the "libchin" thing was a very potentially awkward subject. So for the whole time we were there, we just walked around the city and looked at stuff, and everyday we went out to check the plane. I noticed that every time we got close to the plane, Deidara would go all quiet, and I wasn't exactly a babbling brook myself._

_It was okay, though, because nothing happened for a while, at least. But the city was very enjoyable, so I want to say a bit about that. The houses are all so beautiful, and it was just like in the big cities like San Francisco where you open your front door and there's the sidewalk, instead of having a yard in front, or even a couple stepping stones. You go past the door, and BAM! There's the traffic._

_The houses are much the same, and the only real difference is the color. In the wintertime, everything is dull there except for the paint, including the people. Oh, man, when you try to talk to someone, even if it's just all you know, like where is the bathroom and how much does it cost, well they just look at you like they're drunk or something and answer all slow. Deidara said it's because of the war, which I already knew, and also because wintertime makes people depressed sometimes, especially there. I wouldn't know that well, because where I came from it never snowed, not even on occasion._

_Eventually, I got to know some people who I could call safe, like the lady who stole my quilt. I had to watch her around my stuff because she would try and take it if I didn't watch, but she's Polish and doesn't know any better, I guess. We would talk (she knew English!), and I shared that tea with her that I hid in my coat from the tent. All that time and it was still good! We drank the tea black, even though on Thursdays she would put a little honey in mine, for being a good girl, she said. She reminded me of someone's grandmother, with a little more spice._

_Also, there was the man at the bar who made me drunk (I know, it was my fault). Every time I would go in, he would call me up and pretend to give me some vodka, and then tease me about doing the hard stuff, although I am a real lady when I want to be and graciously refused it. He knew English, too. I asked him about it, and he said that it was worth it to learn the language since it was so important worldwide. I told him I knew that, and he snorted at me. I asked Deidara about it and he yelled at me for not being careful about talking to people._

_The bartender was the link to the outside world for Deidara and me. He was from Denmark, and he smuggled in this illegal newspaper about the resistance, and he translated parts of it that talked about us, and the other Allies. Well, now I know what happened to everyone for sure. I suspected it before, but now I absolutely know. My regiment number was there, and listed under the fatalities as a whole group, basically. Everyone, dead in such a small time. But, I felt so glad to be alive. I feel bad for thinking that, later, but I can't help it. I'm so glad to be alive._

_Deidara says I'm stupid for thinking so much about it, but I know he thinks about people he's lost, too. I'm not entirely alone in that aspect. He's just not as good about talking about it. He likes to keep it bottled in, and then when he's really upset he'll go outside and set off his fireworks. He just loves making things explode, which I am okay with as long as he doesn't set the house on fire or kill my plants._

_We were much better after I brought up the "libchin" thing. We were at the bar again, me with a water, and him with a beer (that stuff is so gross, plus it's homemade, so he has no idea what's in it). Then I ask him why he doesn't call me his little nickname anymore. He puts the beer down and kind of looks at me funny. He said he thought I didn't like it, and that he just stopped because of that, but I knew it was because of what he did, and he felt guilty about it. Well, I was tired of making him grovel, so I told him I didn't care, and, in fact, that I wanted him to call me that again._

_He smiles at me with his little smile he always does, and leans in and asks me if I mean it. I was a little freaked out, I mean, here this creepy German just thinks he's entitled to my body and everything, and whatnot, and, well, I don't know exactly. It was a little creepy, but he's crazy anyway, so I let it go. Then he asks me if he can kiss me, of all things! I let him, and he leans in some more and kind of falls on me, and I grabbed his butt on accident. I didn't mean to, really! But he gives me this look, and so does the bartender, who laughs and yells at us to get a room or else invite him in._

_So Deidara grabbed my hand and rushes me back to the hotel, and we get up to the room and we just stand there breathing hard from running all that way. I turned a little to ask him why in the hell we ran back, since we could've just walked like sane people, and he starts kissing me again, jabbering stuff in German at me again. Well, eventually we wound up in the same sort of situation that I got into on the 24__th__, only this time I remember all of it. I can't really say exactly what happened, because even talking about it this way makes me blush a little, but I will say that it was very nice, and it only made me a little sore, but that was probably just for agitating my old bruised spots down there._

_I didn't bleed at all, which was nice, but I wanted to talk about what I was going to do with myself later, because I wasn't sure if I should go back to the Americans again, but that jerk fell asleep. I was quite offended at him, but didn't hold a grudge since he looked all pathetic and needed to wash his hair, besides. Mine is always clean, thank you. I found out later, through multiple experiences, however, that he fell asleep after every time we did it. I just don't understand that man._

_Pretty soon all the snow melted, and the trees had little buds on them, the weeds sprang up on the sidewalk, and the birds began to chase one another around in a frenzy of love. Watching them sing to each other from branches in a tree made me giddy. I love birds in the spring. Soon after that, though Deidara made plans to leave right away, to go to some place else. He didn't tell me where._

_I didn't really want to leave, since I had just started understanding what was going on, but Deidara said we had to. He said that he felt the war coming to a close, and that very soon it wouldn't be safe for us to be there anymore. With the end of the war, the Allies would draw closer in. Already, there were Soviet soldiers all over the city, especially after all the Germans had hit the road._

_So I said goodbye to the tea lady and Mr. Bartender, and we flew off over the clouds looking for someplace to stay. First we went to Berlin, but all that was there was crumbled buildings and stunned people. I helped lots of them for the few days that we stayed, but Deidara wanted to leave again. It made me so sad to leave those poor people, but I told them a few ways to help hygiene, translated through Deidara, so hopefully they all took my advice. _

_Then we went up to Denmark, the bartender's home, and stayed to refuel and stuff down whatever food we could get. Those people like fish way more than they should, in my opinion. Jeez, I mean, they eat it for every meal, practically, even for breakfast sometimes. But I guess living by the ocean gets you some meal perks, and you might as well take them._

_Finally, we landed in Sweden, a safe country, at least in comparison to Poland. It makes me feel a lot safer, despite all Deidara's grumbling. We didn't go into the big capitol but stuck to the smaller towns, and Deidara attempted to gather information that would be useful to us in his broken Swedish. He must be very smart, knowing so many languages._

_Not too many people speak English here, and the ones that do speak it so terribly that it wouldn't matter if they spoke in Russian to me. I still wouldn't get it. So for now, the only person I can talk to in English is Deidara, who doesn't have much intelligent conversation with me. Mostly he just rambles on about stuff that I can't relate to._

_On a happier note, I'm understanding Swedish more and more everyday. I'm so glad that I'm able to pick it up fairly well, even though it's extremely difficult. But it's great to be able to go to market and go shopping without you-know-who trailing along, complaining when I buy something he doesn't like, and me hoping that someone will understand his German and not refuse to serve us._

_We decided to move here because we ran out of gas, not because Sweden was one of the few neutrals during the takeover, or the excellent quality of the food, or some other grand solution. So the plane is sitting around all sad-like behind the house while it waits for fuel. _

_There. I moved to the back porch so I can see it. Jeez, the grass is already growing around the wheels. I wonder if the plants can tell when something's not supposed to be there. I remember, in Berlin, seeing little plants pushing up through the concrete, and there were cracks around the spot where they pushed up. I can't believe that something so tiny can be so strong. And then that, in a ruined city like Berlin, almost seems like some sort of cruel joke._

_There's Greger Beurling, chasing after his cow again. He never seems to be able to keep that one inside the fence. Maybe she has a boyfriend, ha._

_He was one of the first to welcome us to Sweden when he spotted us slinking into town. Guess they don't get much visitors here or something, by the way he was so happy to see us, but then again, it could just be because of the war, because it's a pretty big city. Population is in the tens of thousands, like twenty thousand or something. Actually, it's probably just him. _

_It just seemed so deserted when we got here. We came in through the main gates and there was practically no one there except this middle-aged farmer and a cow in a deserted marketplace. As it turned out, though, everyone was away for the harvest festival. He led us there (he let me ride on the cow, which was awesome) and asked us questions along the way. Very quickly, he found out just how foreign we were, and after the he yelled at Deidara in Swedish, waving his hands around in Deidara's face, who yelled back in German, waving his hands around in Greger's face._

_Anyway, we finally ended up in this big field, where there were thousands of people doing all sorts of things. Weighing dried out herbs for sale, smacking their kids for throwing fits, dragging home family members drunk, getting drunk themselves, and showing off animals. There was even a little circus, with a zebra, a camel, and a drunken acrobat._

_Feeling in good hands, Deidara yelled a thank you to the man, who yelled back something in reply. Why do people think yelling will solve a language barrier? But it was pretty funny, and I had ice cream besides, so I didn't complain._

_Eventually Greger found out we didn't have anywhere to stay and gave us a cottage on his land. The little courtyard around it is one big flowerbed, neatly trimmed by the last user, and now me. Every other day Greger stops by to see how we're doing and tells us the news and gives us fish or cheese or something. I don't want to be rude, but I'm seriously sick of both of those things. You can only have so much fish and cheese before you go absolutely insane._

_So, the war's been over for about a year now, and not much is happening. I think Deidara's missing all the action, because sometimes he just paces around and sighs. I'm a little worried. Of course I know we're not going to stay here forever, but it makes me anxious to think that we've been here for more than a year and that any day he might want to pack up and go to…I don't know, Africa or something. Maybe find another war zone and fight a little._

_Maybe if I tell him I'm pregnant, we can stay. I can just imagine the look on his face! But if he ever found out that I wasn't, really, I can imagine better how depressed he would get. Lately he's been acting like he wants me to have a baby, for some Godforsaken reason. _

_And he thinks he's all sly about it, too. Yesterday morning he came up to me on the porch and sat down, and told me that Greger's wife recently had a baby, as if he were even remotely interested, and then looked at me sideways. _

_Excuse me._

_I am not your baby machine, you nasty German. Honestly. You spend a year living with a man and he thinks he owns your vagina. Will I have a baby? Absolutely not! I never want to have kids, never ever ever! Not with him, at least. He may be cute, but I still think he's weird. And I'm definitely not in love with him, no siree._

_Another incident occurred this morning. It kind of went like this:_

"_This is nice bacon." (My fist warning sign is always a compliment.)_

"_Mmph."_

"_You got it from that Greger person."_

"_Nngh."_

"_I was thinking about something when I woke up."_

"_Mmm."_

"_That dress looks very cool on you, by the way. I'm just saying." (My American English is rubbing off on him more often lately. It scares me.)_

"_Hhn."_

"_Mrs. Beurling's babies look very nice, too."_

"_Muh."_

"_Do you think this house is too small, Liebchen?"_

_See what he's doing? He's trying to lure me into a corner. If I agree or disagree either way, he'll use it as an excuse to screw me night and day, continuously, until I get fertilized._

_It's not like I hate kids or anything, and I don't hate him. I'm just really really really not wanting a kid right now. Our lifestyle isn't exactly decent, for one thing (we're not even married, it's embarrassing), and the fact that we could end up anywhere isn't good for an infant. They need lots of constant attention, and I don't think I could offer that if I'm puking my guts out on a boat or a plane going to some undisclosed location._

_Oh, here he comes now. Gotta put this away. I caught him trying to read it earlier when I took a break in writing to make myself some tea. His nose was doing the scrunchy thing, and he was following my lines with a finger, just like a little kid, sounding the words out and everything. It would've been cute if he wasn't, you know, reading my damn journal._

_I have no idea what I'm going to make us for dinner. Wait, there's that chicken that's been roaming around outside. I think I'll catch her and fry some strips or something. I wonder if we have milk and flour for gravy…_

* * *

_16.07.1946_

_damn i'm pregnant damn DAMN damn damn i'm going to KILL SOMEONE RIGHT NOW jesus christ i'm leaving and never coming BACK EVER. i'll show HIM._

Later, in the evening, after I got tired of running around:

_Okay, I got over it a little after I ran around screaming in the field, where no one could see me apart from some geese._

_Okay, really, I'm still furious, but I'm furious in a grammatically correct manner. _

_I was JUST SAYING a couple weeks ago how I wasn't ready for a baby, and then THIS. WHY WHY WHY._

_Oh, I just know that when I tell him he'll be all smug and stuff. Great. Now I'm crying. I'm so upset I just want to stab something. And GREAT AGAIN, here comes Mr. Magic Sperm, waltzing in here brandishing Mr. Amazing Penis under his clothes like he's a somebody. I should put laxatives in his tea at dinner, and then accidentally lock the bathroom. _

_But he'd probably just go outside without a second thought. Why did I have to end up with the worst husband ever?_

_Oh, yes, by the way, he came home with papers five days ago and said they were some legal thing, and I signed without looking on the line. I thought he looked suspiciously happy, but when someone wakes you up at THREE IN THE MORNING to sign a paper, you don't care about much other than going back to sleep. So I got married five days ago, and I didn't even know until THREE days ago._

_I'm pregnant, and I'm married. Two of the worst things in the whole world BAM hit me at the same time._

_I'll have to tell him eventually, I guess. If I don't, when I start getting big he'll ask questions, and he'll assume, and then he might be upset when I inform him months after the fact. But of course it'd be nothing less than what he deserves. Damn, I'm crying again. Don't tell me I'm getting rabid hormones this early in the game._

_He's trying to read over my shoulder. I'm leaning over so he can't._

_And now he's talking to me, and patting my head like a good, loving husband, and wanting to know why I'm crying. And NOW I'm crying harder. Jesus, he's sitting down. This means CONVERSATION. I DO NOT WANT THE CONVERSATION._

Later still:

_Well, he didn't get it out of me, but he sure tried. The News, I mean. I decided not to tell him The News for a couple weeks while I try to calm my nerves. Meanwhile, I managed to convince him I was just suffering from an overdose of the summer heat, which is a lie. It practically never gets over seventy-five degrees in this place. So he looked at me funny, and left._

_I'm going to go for a swim in the water hole tomorrow. I'll bet myself five dollars that he'll follow me there._

* * *

_18.07.1946_

_Cloudy with a breeze, 24 Degrees Celsius_

_I don't have any more American money. I drew myself a five dollar bill in the dirt, which looked pretty good except I messed Abe Lincoln's face up a lot. Deidara drew a stick figure couple holding hands and I yelled at him and cried and blubbered nonsense. He looked really hurt and I cried some more. He got a weird expression on his face, stopped looking hurt, and I lay down on the ground and bawled. It was so humiliating, but I just couldn't stop. _

_He picked me up and carried me home, still crying, and in sopping wet clothes. I cried some more because I was afraid of ruining them, even though it's just a calico suit._

_Apparently he wasn't going to let this go, though, because he plopped me down on the bed and glowered at me until I stopped the very last heaving sniffle. Then our conversation went a bit like this:_

"_I see something is wrong with you, yes? You are not cool."_

"_Oh, Jesus."_

"_What? What? Are you sick? Is that it?"_

"_Stop saying that."_

"_Sick?"_

"_Cool!"_

"_I can say whatever I want to, woman. You say this 'cool' all the time, so I can say it, too. I also like making the words shorter, like 'can't' instead of 'can not.' It's so wonderful making the sentences shorter. I also know what 'pandemonium' means. It is the longest English word I know."_

"_You are so clueless."_

"_You are getting off track, Liebchen. Don't bring up things that do not matter. I must speak with you now."_

"_Oh, I'm off track?"_

"_What is wrong with you? You are so mean lately. I do not understand this."_

_And then, because he looked so sad, and because I felt so guilty, I told him everything. About being pregnant, about why I didn't tell him, that I was afraid of leaving this place, that I was afraid of going home, and even all the stuff I thought about him, although I left out the biting remarks. I talked so much that, even while I write this, it's probably the 18__th__._

_But it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. He really listened to me, and said stuff back, and I learned stuff about him that I never thought I would ever care to know, if I ever had the opportunity to know it._

_Like how he missed Germany more than anything but was afraid to go back because of possible retributions that could be made against him, like how he worried all the time that I didn't like him, that I was only staying because I was afraid of him, and how he was frustrated that his business (just like the one he had in Germany) was doing so well. I didn't really get that last one, but I guess lack of hardship makes him nervous, which is weird. He ships his stuff to the big city, and the government apparently discovered him, did a background check, and offered amnesty if he worked for them. So, according to him, we'll be here for a while yet._

_He spent a considerable amount of time discussing the baby with me. When I told him, he got real quiet, not the satanic dance of glee that I expected. Then, and this shocked me, he wanted to hear from ME what I thought about it. I mean, jeez, I thought he'd burst with fatherly pride and go have a congrats cigar with Greger while I sat and puked my guts out all by my lonesome._

_But no, he wanted MY opinion about it. It's so burned into my mind right now. I was lying on the bed, staring mournfully in his general direction after I told him, waiting for that dancing rigmarole, and he sat there with this wide-eyed look, just like a little kid. I thought about him reading my journal, and that same innocent look he wore, trying to make sense of all those words smashed together on my dearth of paper._

_He told me that HE was really worried about it, after I didn't answer when he asked what I thought. He told me that he'd always wanted to have a kid, maybe two, or three, or twenty, and give them the best childhood ever, just like his days on the farm. And he told me that Sweden would be a wonderful place to raise them—well, maybe just the one, Liebchen—until we could go back to Germany._

_I was so exhausted from my emotional tirade that I only listened to him talk about everything he wanted to do, and I didn't say anything for a long time when he asked me again what I thought._

_Eventually I told him about my family, about how I had always wanted to get away from my home, but never expected to be in this situation, not in a million years. But because of the childhood I had, being raised as an extra set of hands, I wanted to treat each of my children like a treasure. I said it much less eloquently, sniffing and gasping for air and all, but I think he got the message._

_I wanted to say more, but I was so tired from all that talking (we talked for several hours), and so was he. We ended up taking an afternoon nap together, and I slept through to the next day and acquired a fever, so most of this next week I'll spend in bed, I predict. _

_That'll give me more time to think, though. I need to find a time when I can tell him I'm sorry for being so unreasonable all this time. He's been nothing but kind to me, if a bit sexually forward, and I haven't been kind in return in the least. He could beat me, or go out and get drunk every night, or force me into having sex with him when I don't want to (which is pretty often), but he doesn't do any of those things. Really, I'm quite lucky. I think I might love him, maybe just a little. I wonder if I should tell him that…_

_I'll also have time to think of a name for the baby. It's something that needs to happen. We'll talk about it later, of course, but I want to be ahead._

_Isaac_

_Peter_

_Theodore_

_Johnny_

_Matthew_

_Alfred_

_Deidara the Second (just kidding, one is enough for me)_

_Joel_

_Ian_

_Here comes Deidara with my lunch (Greger's wife made it), so I'm going to put this away now, while he can't see where I'm hiding it. I'm not even going to write down where I'm hiding it._

_I hope it's chicken noodle soup._

* * *

Friedrich hummed in the hollow of the bed next to a dozing Sakura, yawned, whimpered, and fell back asleep. Deidara ran a finger over the top of his son's head, still slightly damp from birth and the consequent bathing, all around his tiny body before coming to a stop on his chest, warm and soft like old leather.

Feather light against his skin, Deidara felt the rhythm of the baby's heartbeat, and the up and down of continuous breathing. Everything was still now, and he felt grateful for the hush after the laboring hours, when he could just lie there in bed with his wife and new child, watch them and not be testily questioned as to what in hell he was staring at. She didn't mean it, really, it was just all that stress pregnant women experienced, so he didn't think to hold a grudge.

An icy February breeze shuddered around the house, and both woman and baby shivered. Deidara leaned down and pulled a quilt, the soft, warm one, up over the three of them, careful to avoid putting pressure on the infant's delicate form. He checked to make sure the sheets pulled taught around Friedrich's mouth and nose to avoid suffocation, then leaned back and relaxed for the first time in weeks. Arms folded behind his head, he closed his eyes and drifted away, replaying the day over in his mind almost obsessively.

When had it been—? This morning, that was it. Everything had started this morning. Very early, she had woken up beside him and he stirred, alert at her slightest motion thanks to military alertness training.

"What is it?" He had asked her urgently.

"Nothing, just some pains. They're not so bad."

And then, because he trusted her intuition, he went back to sleep. It wasn't the first incident, so he didn't worry.

Later, she woke him again.

"They're big, and they're fast," she'd whispered brokenly. "Will you—?"

"I'll find someone. I'll go to Greger's wife. She told us she would come."

He had put on his clothes in record time, never glancing away from his shaking wife for even a second. He hated to leave her here for the thirty minutes it would take to get to Greger's and back, and the strained grimaces on her pale face created an ethereal countenance about her that frightened him. And if she had the child while he was away? If she bled to death calling for him in fear while the child lay still in her arms?

But the longer he stayed, the greater the chance of that happening was. So he had run from the house in a burst of worried speed, jumping the fence and hoping he wouldn't fall and twist his ankle in some unseen snake hole, hidden in the darkness from peering eyes. An owl screamed overhead and he jumped, relieved at the silhouette of the lavish farmhouse approaching in the distance.

Luck was on his side that night. The couple had been expecting Deidara to come in bursting through their door any day, they said, Mrs. Beurling's babies were away with family and her midwife's parcel was ready by the door in case of emergency. Flashlights were passed around, and the three rushed back to the cottage in a near panic.

By the time they'd returned, Sakura was in the middle stages of her contractions, but seemed to be handling herself well enough. Mrs. Beurling—Sakura called her Katina—immediately set to work, busying herself with pushing up Sakura's nightgown and slipping different sheets under her hips, and shooing Deidara out with a toss of her head.

He hadn't gone far. Greger made some early bird coffee and motioned for Deidara to come sit at the table with him, but he'd refused. Instead, he opted to sit flush against his bedroom door, peeking through the door crack as often as he dared. Eventually the monotonous chirping of the crickets and Sakura's steady moans lulled him into a fitful sleep.

Waking up was an interesting experience. A split second after he jolted back into consciousness, wondering what had woken him and why he wasn't in bed, _he_ cried out for the very first time, drowning out Greger's snores with piercing wails. A glance out the window told him it was just past dawn, but those were trivial matters in comparison with his minute-old lapse of true fatherhood.

But where was the baby? He wanted to _touch_ it, see if it was all truly real, if he could be happy and satisfied at last. Finally, Sakura called out for him weakly, and then Mrs. Beurling opened the door and invited him in. He drew himself slowly to his feet, and walked into the room with heavy steps, distressed at the heady smells surrounding him as he drew nearer to the bed. Sakura lay spent, still breathing heavy from the labor she'd suffered through, and she clutched his proffered hand limply, fighting to stay awake, watching Katina dress the child with glazed eyes.

She looked up at him briefly, then back at the baby.

"I think he'll look like you," she mumbled.

"A son."

"Mmm." She yawned. "What did you say you wanted to name the baby if it was a boy? Do you remember?"

He remembered well.

"We'll call him Fritz," he whispered to her. "That is usually what people say."

"Okay."

Katina handed the swaddled child to his mother, spoke briefly with Sakura, and then the woman and her husband were gone into the morning sun. Deidara rose to draw the curtains, retreating quickly back to the bed, where his wife began to nurse Friedrich, then stopped with a sad look on her face.

"I don't have any milk."

"I can get Mrs. Beurling. They have not gone far."

"It's okay. It happens to new mothers sometimes. Just give me a minute."

She was right, as usual, and Fritz enjoyed his first meal, noisily smacking and kneading his mother's chest with wild hands. Personally, what Deidara had heard of birth hadn't been flattering, and he was rather relieved to have been able to sit out on it despite the anxiety at not knowing what was going on. But this he had been glad to see.

His wife and son looked so content with one another that just looking at the two of them together made him feel warm and safe. Nevertheless, it made him feel like a stranger to this intimacy that mother and child possessed.

That was then, and this was now.

He still watched them, watched the quivering shadows pass them by in favor of a darker destination while the glow of a February snowstorm reflected the morning sun like so many bands of gold. Soon the light and the warmth would come back, and with it the flowers, the river, and hours outside being pulled around by an eccentric pink-haired girl, determined to make him smell every single flower in the field with her by noon.

But this time, a third party entered into his daydream. A little bundle of blankets with a tuft of blond fuzz and a smile for everyone he met, not yet old enough to smell hundreds upon hundreds of wildflowers, but old enough to tag along and take full advantage of the summer heat just as well as anyone. Soon he would walk, and talk, and eat by himself, and then what? Would things be the same for him and Sakura?

But there was no sense in thinking about that now. For now, Deidara was content to gently turn his son over to sleep on his stomach, and he ran his roughed hands along the skin again, the dampness gone but the tinge of red still blushing the wrinkly infant.

He smiled, sighed, and looked over at Sakura, who watched him with tired eyes, and reached over to grasp his hand firmly and relax into sleep again. They would sleep, but he fought his own exhaustion past noon, determined to keep watch constantly, especially when Sakura woke to feed the source of hungrily complaining cries again.

But not even the strength of his will would hold out, and he fell asleep clutching his child in one hand, his wife in the other. Even in sleep, he didn't forget that not everything ended well, but he knew to hold on to what he was granted as he was granted it.

The sun had an opportunity to shine through cracks in the clouds, but the storm continued willfully, thwarting the weak beginnings of spring sunshine with ice and coldness, turning a blind side to the warmth biding deep under the earth. It was a light snowfall, nothing like the wrathful gales in Poland and the storms of deeper winter, but almost like a thin layer of protection against the drifts of the old snow. It was like life, so concentrated on the present and never truly thinking about the before and after.

New life outshone the old, but it remembered that these lives had a past, perched so tenderly on the edges of their success and wonder, and contemplated the legacies of the lives yet to come. Only then would it recall the future, and a genesis of yet another reflection.

* * *


End file.
